“Probably.”
“Lie back.”
“I hate this bed.”
“I hate your life choices. Lie back.”
Her hands pushed me down with firm, practiced control.
The second her palms touched my skin through the thin hospital gown, everything in me lit.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Electric.
A live wire stretched between us, snapping through years, promises, distance, blood loss, Georgia’s ring, every excuse we had ever made.
Destiny felt it too.
Her breath caught.
Her hands stilled on my chest.
Right over my heart.
We stared at each other.
Her face was close again.
Too close.
Not close enough.
I moved first.
Barely.
Enough.
She could have stopped me.
She didn’t.
My mouth found hers.
It was not a hard kiss.
Couldn’t be. I was too weak, too ruined, too full of tubes and stitches to do anything the way my body wanted. But it was still a kiss that felt like the end of every lie I had ever told.
Destiny made the smallest sound against my mouth.
Pain.
Relief.
Want.
