His gaze moves past me.
To her.
I follow it.
She hasn’t moved. Still staring.
Still longing.
For what, I don’t know.
Freedom?
Air?
A life that belongs entirely to her?
My head shakes once, small, helpless.
Chace exhales beside me, the sound heavy with something that mirrors my own helplessness.
“Do you… wanna go out tonight?”
She turns so fast it almost startles me, the towel wrapped around her head slipping loose as she spins, her hands flying up to catch it before it falls, her eyes wide, luminous, fragile in their hope.
“What?” she breathes.
“Tonight, we can see some of the nightlife?” She nods and her contemplative expression shifts into a smile.
It guts me.
There is a little gurgling sound from my stomach, hungry for probably more than the thought of breakfast, but that being said…
“You want to go down and get breakfast, Dove?” I say gently. “We don’t have to stay up here.”
She moves a few errant strands of hair from her forehead and nods. It hits me, how such a small gesture on her part moves me so much. Shit, I want to give everything to her. She deserves the fucking world. So much life stolen.
So many firsts taken before she ever got to have them.
Chace pushes himself upright, slipping his hands into his jeans with forced casualness.
“I could eat. And Trey is a growing boy, he needs to eat his meat and veggies, like the child he is.”
For a split second she just stares at him, like she doesn’t trust it, like she doesn’t trust herself to believe it.
Then she smiles.
Christ.
It’s blinding.
Flash-banged by my own wife…
If she had a theme song when she did that—something epic, something completely over the top—Angel with a Shotgun would be blaring in the background.
Fuck.
I still owe DeLeon money from that Grammy bet… they should’ve been nominated.
