Mine.
Her gaze opened with so much emotion it almost knocked the wind out of me.
“We can’t live in the past,” she reminded.
“Then be in the present with me.”
Her breathing hitched when my thumb pulled on her bottom lip. My hand suddenly moved to grip the back of her neck and bring her toward me. She climbed over the table to sit on my lap. In seconds, she was straddling my waist.
“You make me laugh and smile. You make me feel like I’m living for the first time,” I confessed, needing her to hear the truths I’d been living with. “You make me want to be a better man. Do you have any idea how much you affect me? From your eyes to your giggle, to the way you calm me, too. You fill this void, this huge hole in my heart that existed. No one has ever been able to come close to how I feel when you’re in my arms.”
Before she could reply, I kissed her.
I engulfed her, beckoning her lips to open for me. She released a soft moan as my tongue slid into her mouth. Her tears fell between us, and I tasted all of them. I’d always been a man of few words. To me, actions spoke much louder and clearer than any sentence ever could. Yet there I was, laying it all out for her.
Word by word.
Sentence by sentence.
Making my thoughts and emotions known to her.
To only her.
I carried her up the stairs, never once breaking our connection, our mouths starving for one another. We kissed until we passed out on my bed, and I woke up to her sleeping in my arms. This was the first time we’d fallen asleep in my bed, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. I’d wake up with her in my arms every morning if it were up to me.
The sun was rising, streaming through the curtain. I closed myeyes for a second, hugging her closer to my chest. I scratched her head, playing with her hair between my fingers. The scent of her coconut shampoo lingered in the air, and before I knew it, I had lulled myself back to sleep.
The second time I woke up, it was the smell of coffee and bacon in the air that made my eyes flutter open, and I found myself alone.
“Isla,” I called out, reaching for her.
She wasn’t there. Kicking off the sheets, I stretched, walking toward the bathroom to brush my teeth. My stomach rumbled, and I decided to take a shower after I ate some of Isla’s breakfast. We didn’t finish her dinner last night, and I didn’t want her food to get cold.
It was Saturday morning, or maybe it was Sunday. I’d lost track of the days. Rounding the corner, I stopped dead in my tracks.
For a second, I thought I was seeing a ghost.
Same posture.
Same smile.
Same eyes.
Our mother.
I was once again slapped in the face by another family member. Another lesson was learned, and I understood right then and there that ten minutes had always been our death sentence.
It was when she celebrated, “We’re all family now!”
That I roared…
“The fuck we are!”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
ISLA
