Page 69 of Last Slice of Pie

He groans against my mouth as his tongue swipes across my bottom lip and he shifts me so I’m straddling him. As exhausted as we both are, the need for sleep suddenly disappears as our need for each other takes over.

Piece by piece, our clothes fall away until nothing separates us. With the warmth of skin against skin and arms wrapped tightly around one another, I sink down on him as we become one.

Time passes as we take and give, memorizing the motions, the feel. With his strong thighs beneath me, his large hands enveloping me, we’re unhurried in sharing ourselves and our love. Nothing has ever meant more to me than this.

“I missed you,” he whispers through labored breaths, the roughness of his stubble brushing back and forth across my cheek as his hands guide my hips just how he wants them.

“And I missed you,” I tell him, sealing my lips to his while sliding my arms over his shoulders and gripping his head.

He groans into my mouth and steals the air from my lungs, much like he has most of my life. From finding a scared, lonely, ten-year-old boy in our tree house to watching the extreme joy on his face when he was drafted to his favorite team, he takes my breath away just by being. He strives to be perfect, but what he doesn’t realize is, to me, he already is. He’s so perfect.

“Never again. I mean it, Lex. Too much time has already passed, and I can’t bear the thought of losing any more.”

Leaning back, I stop moving so I can get a good look at him. His cheeks are flushed, his lips are wet and parted, and his blue eyes hold a new level of intense emotion that I haven’t yet seen. My already tender heart beats wildly with relief and love for this man. Although I can feel his absolute conviction, nothing tops hearing him confirm it.

He watches me.

I watch him.

And then his resolve breaks.

As his fingers dive into my hair and he pulls my mouth back to his, a moan escapes me at the onslaught of being taken by him. Because that’s what he’s doing: claiming me, nonverbally saying I’m his and he’s mine.

Forever.

Shoofly Pie

I LOOK DOWN at her in the early-morning sunlight as it slowly peeks its way through the window. Like always, Lexi’s skin looks sleep-warm, her cheek is firmly pressed into the pillow, and her hair is a tangled mess all around her head. I can’t help but let my eyes drift down her body, over her bare skin to where the sheet has gathered just at her hip. She’s beautiful.

There are a lot of things you learn about a person when you sleep and wake next to them: if they hog the blankets, if they talk in their sleep, if they like to cuddle. Lexi does all of those things, but mostly she is generous. She always has been.

When she wakes, she always returns the blankets to make sure she’s sharing them. If she talks too loud and I nudge her, she apologizes and rolls over, and as for cuddling, ever since that first night when we were ten, she’s wrapped her arms around me and made me feel loved, even when there was no one else.

Losing the game was devastating, but the thought of permanently losing Lexi—it’s unfathomable.

I was expecting to feel worse today, but surprisingly, I don’t. Yeah, losing sucked, big time, but with her being here, lying in bed the rest of yesterday and sharing this with me, it’s not as bad as it could have been. She makes everything better. She makes me better.

Slipping out of the bed, I quietly dress, pull the turkey tetrazzini casserole Lexi made out of the refrigerator, and head over to Jack’s condo. Meg texted Lexi on our flight back that they were doing the surgery first thing yesterday morning and he would be released to go home midafternoon. Meg wasn’t able to stay with him because she had to get back to her restaurant in Charleston, but she helped him get set up before she left.

I’m thankful for her. I know what it’s like to do things alone, and I’m glad he had her there, even if it was just for twenty-four hours.

The elevator dings as the doors open and I step out onto his floor. I’m nervous about what I’m going to find, what damage was done, and I’m on edge with guilt that heavily sits on my shoulders. Gripping the casserole dish tightly, I bend my head from left to right to relieve the built-up tension.

Taking a deep breath, I move down the hallway and knock on his door. Zeus, his large black mutt of a dog, immediately starts barking, and from somewhere inside I hear, “It’s open.”

Jack lives very simply. His condo is always spotless, devoid of excess clutter, and except for the football paraphernalia displayed here and there, it looks like a hotel room.

“Hey, man,” he says from the couch.

He looks terrible: messy hair, pale skin, and eyes that are slightly glazed over from pain medicine. His leg is wrapped from midthigh to midcalf and propped up on the coffee table in front of him. My stomach recoils at the sight.

“You look like shit,” I tell him as I move into the kitchen to put the casserole in the refrigerator.

“Ah, sweet pea, don’t be like that.” He chuckles, never taking his eyes off the television. “Such kind words you have for me.” There’s a tone laced through his words; it’s bitter, sad. “Kick off your shoes and stay a while.” He waves his hand toward an open seat.

Instead of responding, I move to stand in front of him, pop one eyebrow, and stare down. Slowly, with a frown on his face, his eyes slide up to mine. They’re haunted, lost. Eventually, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Are you going to sit down or what?”