“I love the way you take care of everyone else without even thinking twice. The way you fight to hold yourself together, even when you’re breaking a little. I love that you call me on my bullshit. I love that you came all this way, and you stayed. Even when it got hard.”
His voice is threaded with unflinching tenderness as he continues. “You make me want to be better. Not just for you. For me.”
Oh god. This is happening. And now I’m crying.
“Okay,” I whisper, my voice shaky but sure. I clear my throat and try to hide the tremble with a smirk. “But don’t get cocky. I still plan on roasting your accent daily.”
He laughs and tips his head back. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And then, so quietly it nearly gets lost in the beat of his heart against mine, I say, “I’ll do it.”
“I’ll move in,” I say again, firmer now.
Callan doesn’t speak. He just wraps me up in his arms like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind, like he needs to feel it to believe it.
“Sunshine,” he murmurs against my hair, a smile in his voice, “you’ve just signed yourself up for a lifetime of soggy chips and sideways rain. No takebacks.”
forty-five
CALLAN
Months have passed since the accident. Months of physical therapy, patience—not my strong suit—and Bree somehow managing to keep me from climbing the damn walls while I was stuck on crutches. But today’s the day. No more crutches, no more aching ribs. Everything is healed, and I’m as close to normal as I’m ever going to get.
But the truth is, Bree’s the one who’s really changed.
She’s been going to therapy every week, like clockwork. She still tries to downplay it sometimes, like it’s just a thing she’s doing, no big deal. I see her, though. I see the way her breathing evens out faster now, the way she lets herself feel things instead of bottling them up.
I’m in awe of her. Not just for doing the work, but for choosing to. For sticking it out, even on the hard days.
She still gets overwhelmed and has moments where I can see her brain spinning a mile a minute. But she talks to me now. She lets me hold her when she needs to fall apart and doesn’t apologize for it after.
I remember the girl who tried to keep everything stitchedtight, who said, “I’m fine,” with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
This Bree? She’s fucking brave, and I don’t tell her that nearly enough, mostly because she gets all squirmy when I do. But I think about it all the time. How lucky I am that she chose to stay. That she keeps choosing it.
And now, today’s the day I get back on my bike. No big deal. Just, you know, confronting some trauma.
Totally fine. No pressure.
And seeing Bree in that leather jacket and boots I got her doesn’t hurt. Goddamn, she’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. It definitely makes it all worth it. And that’s not even getting into the plans I’ve got for her on that bike later.
I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down as I hear her footsteps coming down the stairs.
“Ready to hit the road, handsome?” Her voice rings out with the kind of excitement that never fails to make me smile.
She stands there, all confidence and curves, wrapped up in a leather jacket that fits so well it should be illegal. My pulse goes completely rogue.
“Bloody hell, woman.” My voice comes out rough.
I close the distance without a second thought, hands finding her waist, fingers curling in to feel the heat of her beneath the leather. “You look lethal, love.”
My mouth crashes into hers before she can respond, all heat and urgency, a kiss that’s been waiting for far too long. She tastes like trouble and home all at once, and I’m completely lost to it. My tongue sweeps along her bottom lip, coaxing out a soft sound that shoots straight through me, setting every nerve on fire.
When I finally pull back, mostly because oxygen is a necessary evil, she’s staring up at me, her lips parted, her breath uneven.
“You ready?” I ask, still unwilling to let her go.
Her fingers skim along the edge of my jacket before fisting the fabric, holding me close. “I think so?”
