“Hi,” she says, smiling meekly.
“Are you—” My voice and everything inside me threatens to shatter.
“I’m fine. Just some bumps.” She gestures weakly to her bruised, swollen face. “They took a scan. Everything is clear.”
Relief crashes through me like a wave so hard my head falls into her lap. And then, the dam breaks. Tears, laughter, whimpers, the air in my lungs, everything. All the emotions I’ve likely been holding in for months come pouring out at once. The fear, the guilt, the incessant need to hold it together all comes undone.
“Hey,” she murmurs, rubbing my back, my arms, kissing me wherever she can reach. “I’m okay. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” I choke.
She lifts my face. “I am.”
Her hands trace my wet cheeks, my trembling jaw, my lips. Her green eyes sparkle under the harsh hospital lights, taking me in, like she’s trying to really see me, memorize me. After a moment, a slow smile spreads across her face, drawing my gaze to the small gash on her upper lip. I brush my thumb near it, aching to fix what I can’t.
“What happened?” I ask, my eyes still on her lips.
“I was in a hurry. Neither of us were paying attention.” She scoffs at herself.
“Where were you going?”
“To wreak havoc.”
I blink. “What?”
“I was going to fight with you.”
“Oh.” I straighten. “What kind of fight?”
“The kind of fight where I let myself be mad at you.”
I arch a brow, and she shrugs, now picking at a tear in the blanket draped over her legs. “You know those big movie moments where the girl rehearses all the things, where she knows what she’s going to say, and it makes the guy tear up with joy and anger and excitement?”
“Sure.” I smile encouragingly, though I can’t even remember the last movie I watched.
“It would be like that,” she says excitedly. “I was going to tell you how I get mad at you. But I also get scared. That loving you feels like standing at the edge of a cliff sometimes. It’s beautiful and exciting, but terrifying too.”
Her gaze drops to her hands as she twists her fingers and starts tapping her thumbs together. I encase her hands in mine, and misty gaze comes back to me.
“I was going to tell you that, since the accident, I’ve been too scared toaccept the truth.”
“What’s the truth, Emma?” I ask.
“That I am completely, madly, stupidly in love with you. And I never want to lose you.”
A smile breaks across my face, and I kiss her hands.
“Steven, I don’t want to breathe in a world that doesn’t have you in it. I want to feel everything, even the bad stuff, and I want to feel it with you. Some days, we are at our best, I know that. And some days…” She sighs, rubbing at her brow. “Some days, we are at our worst. But every day, forever, I will still choose you. I want this life, all of it, with you.” Her voice trembles under the weight of her words, as if simply saying them is enough to break her. Then she laughs at herself. “Dramatic, huh?”
“Maybe a little.” I wink.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes search mine, searching for any semblance of forgiveness.
“It’s fine. We are fine.”
I cup her face in my hands, drinking her in. Every inch, every curve, every bruise, every imperfection that comes together to make herher. The depth of her green eyes, the freckles sprinkling her nose, the tiny wrinkles fanning from her eyes. The way she looks at me now. Alive, excited, new but still so familiar. It’s the way she looked at me in a dimly lit room next to a dartboard. The way she looked at me when I knew I would love her for the rest of my life.
“I love you, Emma Jones.”
