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“I don’t want to tear down your walls just to watch you rebuild them again,” I whisper. “I want you to let me inside—completely. The good, the broken, the parts you think aren’t worthy. I just want you to fucking choose me.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.
But she doesn’t lean in either.
Her fingers twitch beneath mine, still pressed flat against my chest like she’s afraid of what she might feel if she lets it sink in.
“I want to choose you,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I do.”
I wait, heart pounding, but I feel it—the shift. The hesitation that doesn’t come from fear of me, but something deeper.
She lifts her eyes to mine, glassy and raw—not from tears she’s hiding, but from truths too heavy to speak. “But I’m not whole, Henry,” she breathes, voice breaking. “I don’t want you waking up one day realizing you settled for a garden that never bloomed.”
I tighten my hold on her just a little, feeling those words settle deep and raw in my chest.
“No garden is perfect, Lou,” I say, voice low and rough, “but you—my wildflower—you’re the one that pushes through the cracks, the one that blooms in the hardest places.”
My voice cracks, raw with all I’m feeling.
“You’re not some garden that never bloomed. You’re the wildest, fiercest thing I’ve ever known. I swear, I’m not going anywhere, and neither is he.”
I press my forehead to hers, desperate for her to finally believe it—desperate for her to know this isn’t just words. This is where I’m meant to be. With her. Always. My hand slips beneath the loose edge of her shorts, sliding up slow, knuckles brushing the slick heat already waiting for me.
She gasps—barely—but it’s enough to make my jaw clench.
“Fuck,” I murmur against her neck. “You’re soaked…and I haven’t even done anything yet.”
She shivers as I speak, hips twitching the slightest bit like her body’s caught between anticipation and surrender. I move to her buttons, slow and steady, undoing them like she’s something sacred. Like I want to remember the feel of every undone inch.
Her shirt falls, soft as breath, and I lower my mouth to her collarbone, kissing the dip there like I’ve earned the right. I don’t rush. I don’t press. Just mouth and tongue and heat, drawn out so slowly it makes her whimper.
Then I pull back, just enough to breathe, and sink onto the edge of the bed.
“Take them off, little viper,” I murmur, nodding toward her shorts. “Then come here.”
She does it without a word—thumbs slipping under the waistband, sliding the fabric down those long legs until it puddles at her feet. She steps out of them and toward me like she was made for this moment.
I grip her hips and guide her around, pulling her back into my lap. Her skin meets mine, warm and soft and already trembling. I spread my legs wide, settling hers over mine, placing each delicate foot on my knees. It opens her up—completely—putting her on full display.
My hand slips between her thighs, and I drag my fingers through the slick heat of her, slow and deliberate, before sinking one deep into her pulsing center.
She gasps, hips stuttering, and her hand slides around my neck, fingers knotting in my hair like she needs the anchor.
“That’s it,” I whisper against her jaw, voice low and wrecked. “That’s my girl…now fucking bloom for me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
CURB STOMP A BITCH’S LIGHTS OUT
LOUISIANA
A month later
We’d just finished dinner when Crow called, asking if I could close Bangers—something came up with their sister. I didn’t hesitate. It’s a Wednesday night, slow enough I could handle it without blinking.
The bar is quiet, just a few regulars tucked into their usual seats, sipping on beer and half-watching a rerun game on the TV. I had my sketchbook open beside the register, pencil in hand, working on a rough drawing of Henry and Dallas out at Thunder Lake. Henry’s hat pulled low, Dallas holding up a fish like it was the damn crown jewels.
“Haven’t seen that in a while,” a familiar voice calls from down the bar.
