Page 120 of On The Edge

Cruz shifts and when he murmurs my name, my heart swells and squeezes and aches simultaneously.

I love him.

What that love is going to net me, I have no idea, but I do—and I’m sick of telling myself otherwise.

Wanting to capture this moment, this memory, this acknowledgement for my own personal memories, I reach for my cell that’s on my nightstand and take a picture of Cruz.

I go to put my phone back but since I can’t sleep, I decide to scroll through social media. I laugh at how much the platform shows me Cruz’s posts since almost all of ours are joint now. It’s like the algorithm knows I like him and keeps showing me pictures of him.

Wanting a walk down memory lane of the past few months, needing something to tell me this is all real—as real as Cruz sleeping beside me—I navigate to his page. My smile is automatic as the slide show of our relationship unfolds.

But I find myself pausing when I see some of the photos he posted. Ones I never knew he took of me. They’re candid and real. Ones of me with my head thrown back and laughing. Others with my expression serious as I look at something in contemplation. Then there are some at the various race tracks, with me in the midst of his chaos.

Not a single one had I known he’d taken.

The odd thing is when I look at these photos, I see myself, but I see something equally as important. I see how Cruz sees me. I see me through his eyes.

And I’m touched and moved beyond words.

Their perspective is one of reverence. Adoration. Love.

My throat closes up and a single tear slides down my cheek. I’m not sure why seeing these makes me sad, but it does.

Is it because I know this is coming to an end?

Is it because I feel stronger for Cruz than he does me?

That’s the crux of it. I don’t. Tonight—in the field . . . these pictures . . . I know he feels the same way.

The question is, will he allow himself to feel? To trust?

They say love conquers all, but it’s a hard fucking hill to climb when you’re battling the giant who’s guarded it your whole life.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Cruz

Everywhere I look, there are Harts. Or relatives of Harts by one connection or another. Or friends of Harts they claim as family.

And food. My God, this family knows how to put out a spread of food that could feed a whole country.

It’s not a long table in the family orchard complete with expensive wines and place settings as befits royalty. It’s plastic tables placed sporadically and loaded with every kind of food imaginable. There are no formal servers or courses. It’s dessert first for some. It’s the main meal first for others. It’s just alcohol for a few.

The laughter. It’s a constant. Kids giggling and adults barking out and a few of the older people with a deep rumble that you can hear from any place in the yard.

The ease. There is an ease to this family. To their comradery. To their ribbing each other. To their difference of opinions that start out with raised voices and then end with laughter and pats on the back.

And then there is Maddix.

Christ, when she walked out in the yellow sundress with straps tied at the shoulders, a fresh face of lip gloss and mascara, and her hair piled on top of her head, she took my breath away. I’ve seen her in the glitz and the glamour of my life—she’s learned to adapt and be a part of that—but it’s the simplicity of this that knocked my feet out from under me.

I study her from my spot under a shady tree. She’s sitting cross-legged on the grass with three little girls hanging all over her. They can’t be older than four years old, but they are enamored with her and she with them. She looks over to her mom every so often and they share an exchange that’s always followed by a smile or laughter.

She blows raspberries on little bellies and pretends to kiss the baby doll of another little girl. Her expressions are animated, and her smiles are bright.

Christ. I press a hand to my sternum where pressure stirs. Pressure seeing her like this has caused. I don’t understand it and yet I can’t look the fuck away.

She glances over my way, and when her eyes meet mine and her whole smile brightens, I swear to God, it tugs on the base of my balls and pretty much every other part of me.