Page 76 of Coming Home

"I want a plaque."

"I'll have Theo make it out of solid gold."

She laughed, the sound bright and breathless against my neck. The Spanish music was still drifting over from the sand, the sun was catching the wet strands of her hair, and she was so beautiful it leveled me.

The world had a habit of fading into white noise whenever Emma looked at me like this.

I pulled her a little tighter against me. Her laughter quieted, her blue eyes locking onto mine, reading everything I couldn't say out loud.

"You let me win," she whispered.

"Prove it."

"Your stroke was at half-speed, Ralph. I'm not an idiot."

"Maybe I just liked the view."

"You're shameless."

"Maybe." I reached up, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb lingering on her cheekbone. "The finish line just isn't the point anymore."

Her eyes filled, bright and glassy, and I leaned down to kiss her before the tears could even think about falling.

She kissed me back fiercely, her fingers tangling deep in my hair, holding me like she was never going to let go.

I pulled back just enough to press my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling.

"You won, mermaid."

She smiled against my lips, her hands sliding down to rest over my heart. "I know."

Floating there in the warm Caribbean, with colors everywhere and the woman I loved right here in my arms, I finally understood what I'd been racing toward my whole life.

Losing was never the thing that terrified me. I had just been afraid of being still. Afraid of stopping long enough to let the world see the man behind the medals. But the water was patient. It held me the same way it always had, only this time, I wasn't fighting the current. I was just here. Present. Anchored.

The finish line was never the goal.

She was.