“Don’t go. Stay tonight.”
“What?”
“Stay with me.”
He lowered his eyebrows. “You’re drunk.”
“A little.”
“But you want me to stay?”
“A lot.”
His fingers wrapped around my lower back, and he pulled me closer to his body. “If I stayed, I would want to hold you until the morning, and I know that scares you.”
“A lot of things scare me. A lot of things completely terrify me, but being held by you isn’t one of them anymore.”
My mouth parted as he traced my bottom lip with his finger. He softly lifted my chin up so he could kiss me slowly and gently. “I adore you,” he whispered against my lips.
“I adore you,” I replied.
His fingers rested on my chest, and he felt my heartbeats. I placed my hands over his chest, feeling his. “I like this,” he whispered against my lips.
“I like this too,” I replied.
His eyes dilated, and he breathed me in. I breathed him in too, becoming slightly addicted to his entire being. He smelled like the wind that pushed through the most beautiful pine trees in the forest: refreshing, comforting, peaceful. Like home. It had been so long since I had felt like I was home.
We took in each other’s breaths, silently begging for a little bit more. We headed to my bedroom, where our clothes fell off and our lips came together.
“Everyone in town thinks this is wrong. Everyone thinks we are a ticking time bomb set to explode any second,” I explained. “And I am completely positive that I’m going to somehow manage to mess this up. Then everyone will say, ‘I told you so.’”
“For a second let’s pretend that they are right. Let’s pretend that at the end of this, we don’t end up happy.” He sighed against my skin, his lips rolling over my bare stomach. “But as long as air moves in and out of my lungs,”—his tongue danced against the edge of my panties—“as long as I breathe, I will fight for you. I will fight for us.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Elizabeth
I fell in love with the idea of him first. I fell in love with the idea of a man who could someday make me laugh, smile, and cry all at once. I fell in love with the idea of him loving me for my brokenness, for my pained heart. I fell in love with the idea of his kisses, his touch, his warmth.
And then, one chilly morning, I walked onto my front porch with a steaming coffee mug in my hand. He was lying in the snow-covered grass, making snow angels and looking up at the clouds with Emma beside him. They fought all the time, but in the silliest of ways. That morning, they were arguing about what animal they saw. Tristan saw a giraffe cloud, while Emma swore it was a penguin, so after a while, he pretended to see the penguin too.
Emma’s lips spread into a grin, and the two grew silent as they moved their legs and arms to perfect their snow angels.
It was in that silence that I knew. I loved him. I loved him so, so much. It wasn’t a dream anymore, nor was it the simple idea of loving him.
It was real.
It was true.
He was love.
He made me smile. He made me happy. He made me laugh in a world that was determined to make me cry.
Tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to understand how—how could it be that I was allowed to love such a man who also loved me?
It was such a special feeling to love and be loved in return. To find a man who not only loved you, but cherished the best part of you—your baby girl. I was blessed more than words could ever say.
Emma and I loved Tristan completely, and he loved us the same. Maybe he loved our scars the most. Maybe the truest form of love grew from the deepest kinds of pain.