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When I’ve made it through every last death we’ve encountered these last few weeks, I find myself sucked back into a memory I haven’t allowed myself to ponder, not in the light of day.

Then

Calista

“I swear to God, Calista, could you be any more of a prude?” John asked, but I knew the answer I’d have liked to give him would only have ended with me sporting a black eye. Again.

“It’s Christmas, John. Can we please just squash this for now. I thought we were going to spend the day together, doing something fun.” I could only hope the false eagerness I tried to portray would sway him enough that we could make it downstairs and maybe then I could get a little space from him. Space I so desperately need to breathe for once.

“If you recall, I was trying to spend time with you, but my wife is greedy with her cunt. Never wants to give it up to me unless there’s something in it for her, huh? What do you want for a little action, Calista? That necklace you drool over?” Because of course he’d weaponize something so simple.

“You know what? I’m tired of being your punching bag!” I yelled at him, throwing my hands up in frustration.

“That’s how you think I treat you?” he asked, sharp brows rising, cheeks turning red as he stomped toward me, backing me into a corner. “You think I’m not good to you?” He punctuates every verbal punch with a step in my direction. “Who works so you have a roof over your head?” Step. “Who makes sure you’ve got nice clothes and those expensive handbags hanging off your arm?” Step. “Who fucks that tight little pussy even when you say you don’t want it because we both know you just enjoy the chase. You dirty fucking slut.” Step.

My molars grinded as he approached, towering over me, and all I saw was red as I stepped to the side. His nostrils flared and his hands came up as he lunged for me, but I jumped out of the way, putting my hands up to block his approach.

With a slack jaw, I watched as he stumbled, eyes growing wide in terror before he fell over the edge of the staircase and before he could catch himself, I gave him a shove, ensuring he’d never speak to me that way again.

Now

Calista

“Calista.” Alastair’s voice coaxes me back to reality and before my brain can catch up with my body, a shuttering sob is tearing from my throat. He spins me in his arms, forcing me to face him as tears soak my lashes, streaming down my cheeks.

Alastair swipes them away with the pads of his thumbs as I shake with the force of my grief. Both for those we’ve lost and for myself and a life I’ve denied myself out of fear.

“What’s going on?” he whispers, stormy eyes softening at the corners as he takes me in.

My throat thickens, and I feel raw, all of the truths I’ve hidden just beneath the surface now flayed free from my skin.

“I-I’ve always told myself I’d never love again. It had gotten me nowhere before,” I admit, watching as his brows pinch together in confusion. I clearly surprised him with the direction this has taken. “And then, you came along and I fell madly, deeply, painfully in love with you. With the wide smiles you give so freely and the soft ones you save for me.” His skin flushes, his cheeks turning a pretty pink color. My blushing boy. “I fell for your boisterous laughter, horrendous taste in coffee, impeccable music selection, and the sound of your voice when you read to me. With every moment we spent together, I was finding it harder to keep you at arm’s length rather than wrapping you in mine.”

“Calista, I⁠—”

I shake my head. “No. I’m speaking now,” I tell him and his lips twitch at the corners.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says. I’m vaguely aware of the chuckles and snorts of the crowd still surrounding us.

“Good boy,” I whisper, lowering my voice so only he can hear me, and I feel his dick twitch in his trousers where he’s pressed to my front. “I’m sorry, Alastair.”

“For what?” he asks, eyes searching mine.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to realize that I was never truly worried you’d turn out to be like my ex-husband.” His brows climb his forehead as if he’d never even considered this was my reasoning, and truly, why would he have? He’s given me no reason not to trust him. Not to love him. As horrifying as our recent reality has turned out to be, there’s one positive thing that’s come of it—the terrifying push I’ve needed to let go of my past and run head first into my future. So, with a shaky voice and tear-filled eyes, I admit my truth to the man I feel my soul has always known. “I have always believed you would never hurt me. I just used it as an excuse to keep from seeing the real reason behind my refusal.”

“You’re keeping me on the edge of my seat here, sweetheart.”

“Fear.” I avert my gaze, squeezing my eyes shut for just a beat before meeting his once more. “I was terrified to let myself feel that all-encompassing love. The kind that shatters your soul when your person dies, leaving you to walk this earth as a shell of who you once were.” His eyes are brimming with tears, and I sniffle as heartache settles into my chest. “But, Alastair,” I say, cupping his cheeks as he lets his hands slide down my waist, gripping me gently, “I’d rather love you than lose you. I’d rather be selfish with you than lose our chance at our happily ever after and I am so sorry it took facing the very real possibility of our death to come to that conclusion.”

“Thank fuck,” he murmurs, breathing a relieved sigh. “I love you, Calista Ravenna. And I will keep loving you until the day I die and in every lifetime after. My soul will find yours, of that, I’m certain.”

My heart cracks open, my love for him pouring out as the weight of everything we’ve endured makes this bittersweet moment feel so prudent. And because I no longer give a damn what anyone thinks, I practically maul the man, plastering my lips to his in a rough kiss that he meets with just as much fervor.

We’re a tangle of limbs, my fingers sliding through his auburn waves, my teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he plunges his tongue into my mouth and I’m faintly aware of the catcalls and clapping that surrounds us.

When we break free of one another, we’re both panting, skin flushed, and I feel the steady, quickened pace of his heart that thumps in time to my own, pressing beneath my palm.

Mrs. Briar, one of the university’s administrators taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to face her, dark hair in a messy bun and big blue eyes staring widely at me. “I expect disclosure documents signed and on my desk by the start of the new semester,” she says with a nod before turning in her kitten heels and strutting away in the snow covered ground.