Page 141 of When the Smoke Clears

Whack!

Whack!

The pillow snags on the post and feathers explode all around me, but I don’t stop, not until there’s nothing but a limp cotton pillowcase and torn-up shell in my hands. I use it to wipe my angry tears.

“Fuck you. That’s right. I said fuck you, Will. You’re such a runner. You let my bird die because you were too lazy to save her. You let us die because you’re too lazy to fight for us.” I blow at a feather stuck to my snotty, tearstained face and toss the pillowcase aside. Then I open the closet to get my clothes.

“Ahhh!” My lungs explode, and my heart stops as I experience a real-life horror movie in my bedroom.

There’s a man in my closet.

“What are you doing?” I shove him, and he grabs my clothes to steady himself, but they come off the hangers.

“Well”—Will steps out of my closet, wearing the smirk of all smirks—“I’m not running.”

“I hate you.” I narrow my eyes, hands balled at my sides.

“Shut up,” he says.

“Don’t tell me to—”

He grabs my face and kisses me. I try to shove him away and peel his hands off my face, but it’s pointless. When I finally surrender, he releases my lips enough for his grin to return while still grazing mine.

“I’m not running,” he whispers. “Not if you hate me. Not if you chase me. Not ever.” He pecks at my lips. “I’m fighting for us. I’ll be your prince. I’ll be your caveman. I’ll be the only man you’ll ever need. Your peace.” He kisses me. “Your hope.” Kiss. “Your love.” Another kiss. “And your faith.”

He remembered every word from the garden.

For the troubled may you find peace ~ For the despairing may you find hope ~ For the lonely may you find love ~ For the skeptical may you find faith

“Why were you in my closet?” I ask with his naked body enveloping mine. I don’t even look up at him because I love having my face buried in his neck, his hand cupping the back of my head like I’m the most precious person in his world. And I think I might just be.

He blows at a feather that must be stuck to my hair. “Just pulling proverbial petals from a rose. She loves me. She loves me not. Waiting to see if you got out of the shower and went on with your day like I was an afterthought. I hoped you might call your mom and break down, regretting telling me to leave. But you, my short stack, delivered something so unexpected. I’m not sure how to describe what happened.”

“Gah!” I kick my feet, and he pins them between his. “I’m so embarrassed.”

He chuckles. “You should be. That was . . .”

“Stop.” I pull my head from the crook of his neck and teasingly bite his jaw.

“You’ll never live that one down. Sorry.” He rolls us until I’m pinned beneath him, our fingers laced on either side of my head.

I giggle until he settles his pelvis between my legs, the head of his erection slowly pushing into me. With a heavy blink, my lips part for a tiny inhale as his face hovers over mine.

“Come home with me,” he whispers. “We won’t tell anyone we’re hiding out in your camper until we’re ready. Until you’re ready.” He rocks his pelvis.

I arch my back. It isn’t fair to ask me to make major decisions when he knows the only words on the tip of my tongue are “Yes. Oh, god, yes” and “Don’t stop.”

“Tell me you love me.” I lift my head and kiss him. “Tell me you love me, and I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Will grins. The one that reaches his ears. The one that makes my heart and tummy flutter at the same time. “I love you. And I’m not sorry.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Will

The only thing I love more than Everleigh’s brave smile is the way her hand always searches for mine, whether we’re walking down the aisle of the hardware store, making snow angels in the empty field between the barndominium and the pond, or lying in bed, staring out the window at the stars.

We’ve been in Missoula for two months, but our friends and her mom think we’re still in Key West. Every day, I expect a knock on the door because Fitz or Maren might decide to drive by the property and see us outside.