He pulls me into his arms, and I collapse against him, basking in the safety I always find here. “Youshouldhave told me,” he murmurs against my hair. “You should have told me the second that lawyer came to see you.”
“I couldn’t, because I knew what you would do.”
“Bury my ex-wife somewhere and hope they never find the body.” A rough laugh rises from his chest. “I’m kidding. I’d never lay a hand on Deirdre, but she is not my favorite person right now.”
“I know you’d sooner die than hurt her, but I also know you would have fought for me. You would have wasted time, money, and energy, all because you believe I’m a good person.”
“I know you are.”
I interlace our fingers, pressing a soft kiss to his hand. “But that would have hurt you. Hurt Theo. Torn apart the relationship you three share. I never wanted to see that happen. And I worried that even if you took her to court and somehow won, that one day you’d look at me and regret every single moment.”
“You listen to me. The only moments I’ve regretted were the ones where you walked away from me. I have never regretted any other moment with you. Not one.”
“Not even the night of the party? I’d never seen you so mad. Well, until now.” I wipe my cheeks with the heel of my hand, managing a stilted chuckle.
The corners of his mouth lift. “Are you kidding? You felt fucking amazing. Best night ever, right up until you decided to rip my heart out of my chest again.”
My face crumples, a second wave of tears threatening to break free. “I’m sorry?—”
But I don’t get to finish as Eddie claims my kiss, his lips yielding as his tongue slides against mine, healing all the hurts in my battered heart. I wind my arms around his neck, inching ever closer, desperate to bask in every inch of him.
He breaks away, nuzzling my nose. “I prefer these kisses more than the angry ones.”
“The angry ones were pretty damn hot, though.”
“Yeah, they were.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Look, we can’t win the war tonight, but at least now I know who I’m fighting. And I know it’s not you.”
Eddie and I spend the next couple of hours talking. Not about surface-level crap. Not easy, banal conversations.
The deep thoughts we keep hidden from the light. The dreams we don’t speak aloud. The truths we barely admit to ourselves.
Eddie tells me he always dreamed of playing professional soccer, until a blown knee in college ended that path before it ever began.
So he decided to major in architecture. But somewhere between the drafting tables and the blueprints, he realized he didn’t want to sit behind a desk designing new homes. He wanted to restore what already existed. Bring something broken back to life.
We talk about Theo—how he never planned on becoming a father, but wouldn’t trade him for the world. I don’t ask him about more children, because I remember his words. That he already has his family and he’s complete.
Besides… that’s a conversation for another lifetime.
“What are your dreams?” Eddie asks, his fingers sliding gently through my hair, his gaze tender as it melts into mine.
“I don’t dream anymore.”
Sadly, that’s the truth. Survival has a way of stripping dreams from your soul.
“If you woke up tomorrow and your life was fully restored, with everything behind you, what would you do?”
I hesitate, not because I’m unsure of the answer, butbecause I don’t know how much more brutal honesty the man can handle tonight.
Let’s start with the easy stuff.
“I’d take on more design work,” I muse. “Boutique hotels, historic homes. Then, I’d go to Europe. See the cities that color my dreams.”
“Good plan,” he murmurs.
“Oh, I’m not done.” I pull the blanket tighter around me and shift to face him. “Most importantly, I’d go after you.”
His brows lift, an amused expression on his face, but he doesn’t interrupt.
