One sunset ago when he snuck into my bedroom and told me he was terrified of losing me. He did everything but say he loved me.
I said I loved him, but what else haveI done?
He left.
I don't want him to go another sunrise without knowing that I heard everything he said.
He doesn't have to be scared.
I'm his.
Kit
It's almost midnight by the time Fiona's tires hit the gravel driveway. Luckily, she was brought back sometime this evening, fixed and running as rough as ever.
I don't give a shit if she dies, just as long as I get to him.
I feel lightheaded when the cabin comes into view. Lightheaded, ringing ears, and so many butterflies in my stomach, I feel like I could float to the tops of the swaying trees.
The lights are on in the cabin, and I'm fucking breathless to see him.
Fiona's crispy old honk fills the night. Birds fly from trees, and my ears ring louder but I hit the horn again anyway.
I slam on the brakes hard enough to lock the seat belt against my chest, but I quickly throw her in park and fumble with the buckle.
I expect him to come out of the cabin. I don't expect to see him climb out of the truck like he never even made it out.
“Do you—”
I don't expect to see him crumbling at the sight of me.
Bowen Briggs stumbles over to me and falls to his knees. Forehead pressed into my belly, tears soaking into my shirt. He holds me by my hips, anchoring us together.
“I love you so fucking much, kitten.” His voice is raspy with emotions so thick, it cracks. He grasps at me with trembling hands. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I fall too, right there in the driveway, rocks digging into our knees. The sound of the wind through the trees our soundtrack, the moonlight our audience.
“Say it again,” I breathe, grabbing his wet face in my hands.
“I love you,” he says, lips brushing mine with every word. “I was coming back. I swear I was coming back. I'm sorry.”
“You stupid man.” It's the sweetest kiss I've ever had. Because it tastes like relief. Like a promise.
Like home.
Bowen is my home.
Epilogue
Kit
It's just as I remember it. Better still, if that's even possible. The magenta wildflowers are more vibrant than the memory I had of them. The water in the bottom of the valley is the perfect mirror for the mountain reaching for the blue sky in the distance.
Bowen and I have been traveling since school let out. Almost a month in Fiona now.
He secretly loves it.
I can feel it in his stare on the side of my face when I'm driving us down highways. I see it in the way he smiles at every new site, or the way he watches me intently when I replay stories about my travels.
