He cuts me off and sets the letters back into the box. “Nothing about this is stupid, baby.” He pulls me back into his lap.
Mocha comes over and jumps into my lap. I hold onto him as Beckett picks up each journal, flipping them over before setting them back into the box, looking through the other little things inside the box as well.
“You can read them if you want.”
“I might, but right now I just want to hold you,” he whispers. kissing the side of my head. His fingers push up the hem of my shorts, his fingers moving with purpose. He gently brushes them against the scars that paint my thighs, both new and old.
“These don’t define you; you are beautiful inside and out. Maybe in another life, we find each other in our youth and live a happy life together.”
“I just want to live the rest of this one with you.”
“Baby, there’s so much that I can never give you,” he whispers, kissing my head.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, maybe you should. I don’t know if I can give you any kids,” he whispers.
“We could foster or adopt.”
“I’m closer to retirement than you are to being my age.”
“I’ll come visit you in the retirement home.”
“You littlebrat…” he says with a laugh. “I can’t go with you to Georgia, and I can’t ask you to stay here.”
“Then don’t, we’ll make it work.”
“I want what’s best for you.”
“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that you’re what’s best for me?” He lets out a sigh. He cups my cheeks and wipes away what tears remain.
“I don’t deserve you.” He brings our foreheads together.
“We were always supposed to find each other; it was only a matter of time.”
“God, I hope you’re right.”
“I’m never wrong,” I whisper, and it causes us both to smile softly.
“It’s going to be messy and complicated. People aren’t going to understand, they’ll probably judge us.”
“Welcome to the life of Sloane Monroe.”
“That’s not funny,” he whispers.
“I wasn’t making a joke.”
He blinks once, really slow. “Thank you for being here.”
“Thank you for texting me.”
“I’m so fucking glad I did.”
“I am too.”
40
BECKETT
