Page 142 of What Remains

Her lips connect once again with mine, and whatever pressure is left between us breaks.

For five more perfect seconds, the third floor and the threat radius stay out of my mind. It’s just her. She chose to step in, not away, when I admitted how I felt. She didn’t run, and that’s all I needed to know.

I force our lips to part and rest my forehead against hers. “If I don’t stop, I’m going to forget we’re surrounded by armed professionals and your father and possible incoming violence.”

A soft breath settles between us as she lets her Converse hit the floor. “Okay, but um . . . did you say you love me? Did I hear you right?”

A laugh hits the back of my throat, and I lift my head and sweep my hands to her cheeks. “Maybe.” I squint one eye closed. “Possibly.”

Her hand drifts between us, delicate fingers touching her lips. Her skin is a soft red from my beard, and it takes all my energy not to pick up where we left off. Covering every inch of her with my mouth from her delicate temples to between her legs.

I park a palm on the wall over her shoulder and lean in. “Does that scare you?”

She shakes her head no.

I exhale a deep breath, hoping to summon what’s best to say from the ether since I’m no wordsmith. Is there a patron saint of love and romance? I tip my chin to the ceiling, asking for a little help here.

Her hand falls from her mouth to my chest, and she wraps her fingers around the St. Michael medal. Seriously, a mind reader sometimes, I swear.

“I should never have left the first time.” That’s what I need to say. “I was confused and scared, too, but that doesn’t change the fact I hurt you.” I can’t help but keep apologizing for leaving. I’ll say the words as many times as I need to until I can forgive myself, because I know she already has.

Her dark lashes remain a shield to her eyes as she continues to stare down between us.

“I meant what I said before about Julian being a good guy, but I disagree with your dad. Julian doesn’t love you, not the way I do.”

Her eyes startle up when I drop the L word again.

“If he knew you like I do, he wouldn’t have sent flowers. He’d have bought you a nature preserve full of wild ones. He would know you hate when flowers are cut and put in vases. You like them the way you like yourself.” With my other hand, I brush strands of her hair behind her ear. “Wild. Free,” I add in a hoarse voice. “I should have been the one to do that.”

A shuddery breath leaves her lips along with one lone tear. She releases the saint medal and presses her back to the wall.

“You said in your Dear Easton note this morning you don’t know what it’s like to be loved.” I crook my finger under her chin, and rasp, “I want to be the one to show you.”

CHAPTER 50

Gwen

“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking.” Easton’s touch is always intentional, never casual. So when he sweeps his thumbs on my cheeks and pushes his big hands into my hair, it’s his way of expressing his feelings without saying them. Calming the storm in his mind right along with the one ever present in mine.

We’re down to minutes. Maybe even seconds before Dad returns. I’m keenly aware of the timer above our heads, but I’m stuck here like a statue. Not of indecision, but one still rooted in deep hurt. And no, not by this man, by past afflictions and asshole ex-boyfriends and a mother who cared more about image than my self-worth.

Speak, come on, say something. It’s my nature to cut and run before I can be hurt. But I’m done with that. I need to fight through the trauma trying to pull me underwater and drown me. Resurface with fresh air in my lungs now that I have my best friend telling me he’s in love with me.

“It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. You know that, right?” His stare doesn’t wander. It lands and stays on my face. “You don’t have to be there yet just because I am.” His voice cracks, and the emotion slipping through has my thoughts scattering like dropped glass.

My mind gives way to a rare moment of silence as all competing thoughts drift free.

“E,” I whisper, blinking back tears. “I’ve never been in love before. How do I even know love love from friendship love?” I swallow. “I mean, sure, I’m mature for my age, and I had to grow up fast. But you have more life experience than me. I hope you don’t mistake my asking this for saying I don’t, but⁠—”

“You are younger.” A line forms between his brows as he quietly stares at me. “And that’s one of the reasons I fought my feelings for you so damn hard.” He pushes off the wall and settles both hands on my cheeks. “It’s funny, but when I was younger, I used to think everyone in their thirties and forties had it all figured out, and damn was I wrong.” His words caress my skin, warming me. “Because here I am forty with all that experience you say I have, and I don’t know a whole lot of anything.” His throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Except for how I feel about you.”

My heart stutters, and I open my lips to say something, but no sound comes out.

“But you’re right. There’re different kinds of love, and I’m not even sure how to classify any of them. What I do know is you’re the only one I won’t survive without. I tried to. I fucking ran away. And like I told you back on that island, I would have come back. Even if none of this happened.”

“And?” I press closer against him.

He slips his hands into my hair. “And you’re the only one I want to make love to. The only one I want to do that with for the rest of my life. Even without ever having done it with you . . . I just know.”