I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t say the words.
I thought I was going to lose you.
She’s here. She’s safe. She’s in my arms.
“Come on,” I say, rough. “Let’s get you warm.”
I bend and scoop her up, one arm under her knees, one behind her back. She makes a small squeak of protest, but I’m already moving.
“Miles, I can walk?—”
“I know. Just…” My hold tightens. “Just let me.”
She doesn’t argue again, she loops her arms around my neck and tucks her face against my shoulder.
My truck is only twenty feet back, hazards still flashing. When I reach the passenger door, I shift her weight to open it, then lower her carefully onto the seat.
I jog back to her truck and grab her purse and phone. Her guitar’s already in my trunk from the bar. I toss her things in the back and hop into the driver’s seat.
She stares straight ahead, her hands resting in her lap, only a slight tremble left. I reach over and take one of them.
“You’re okay,” I repeat. Each time I say it, my heart rate settles a little more.
She turns to look at me, her eyes still glassy. “Areyouokay?” Her lips curve just a hint, and it undoes me. Her tiny smile could fix just about anything, I swear.
“I can’t do this anymore,” comes out before I can stop it. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you. I can’t keep pushing you away when all I want is to pull you closer. I’m so fucking tired of being scared.”
She blinks, but doesn’t say anything, so I keep going, “I know.” I shake my head. “I know I don’t have the right—I know I fucked it all up.”
I glance at our hands, then back at her.
“I’ve replayed that night over and over. Everything I should’ve done differently. Everything I should’ve said instead. I knew it was wrong the second the words left my mouth. And every day since—every day we’ve been… not us—it’s only gotten clearer.”
I cup her jaw, and my eyes flick between hers. “I should’ve kissed you. I should’ve tasted whiskey off your tongue. I should’ve told you I’ve been thinking about kissing you again since the moment your lips left mine on December 11th. That Ican’t decide whether I crave your smile or your laugh more. That you completely undo me, honey.
“I’d rather have months with you than a lifetime of living with the regret of not knowing.”
“Me, too.” Her voice is barely there.
“I want you.” The word comes out raw. “For however long we have. However it ends.” I blow out a breath. “That’s what I should’ve said that night.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I can see it all moving across her face—hope, fear, uncertainty.
Then she says, “You have me.”
Something in my chest that’s been braced and held tight for weeks finally—finally—lets go.
“You have me,” she says again, stronger this time. “You’ve had me since that first night. You’ve always had me, Miles.”
I don’t remember leaning in. Don’t remember threading my fingers into her hair or tilting her face up.
All I know is, between one moment and the next, my mouth is on hers.
She gasps, and I swallow the sound, pulling her closer. Her hands fist in my shirt again, but this time, it’s not fear.
This time, it’s need. It’s relief. It’syes.
Our kiss is messy. Desperate. More than a dozen days of wanting and pushing away and still wanting all poured into one single kiss.
