Maybe Someday

Chapter Twenty Five

Sydney

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are,” Warren says, kicking my legs

off the coffee table. “I’m bored out of my mind.

Bridgette works all weekend, and Ridge is off

doing God knows what with God knows who.”

I immediately look up at him with my heart

caught in my throat.

He laughs. “That got your attention.” He

reaches forward, grabs my hands, and pulls me

off the couch. “I’m kidding. Ridge is at home

working, being a mopey little shit, just like

you’re trying to be. Now, go get pretty and come

out with me tonight, or I’ll sit on the couch with

you and force you to watch porn.”

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I pull my hands from his and walk to the kit-

chen. I open a cabinet, then grab a cup. “I don’t

want to go out tonight, Warren. I had class all

day, and it’s my only night off from the library.

I’m sure you can find someone else to go with

you.” I grab a container of juice from the refri-

gerator and fill my glass. Leaning against the

counter, I take a sip as I watch Warren pout in

my living room. He’s kind of adorable when he

pouts, which is why I always give him such a

hard time.

“Listen up, Syd,” he says, walking toward the

kitchen. He grabs a bar stool and pulls it out, then

takes a seat. “I’m about to lay things out for you,

okay?”

I roll my eyes. “I doubt I can stop you, so go

ahead.”

He lays his palms flat on the counter in front of

him and leans forward. “You suck.”

I laugh. “That’s it? That’s what you needed to

lay out for me?”

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He nods. “You suck. So does Ridge. Since the

night I gave him your address, you’ve both

sucked. All he does is work or write music. He

doesn’t even play pranks on me anymore. Every

time I’m over here, you’re just focused on study-

ing. You never want to go out. You never want to

hear my sex stories anymore.”

“Correction,” I say, interrupting him. “I’ve

never wanted to hear your sex stories. That’s

nothing new.”

“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head. “My

point is that the two of you are miserable. I know

you need time and blah, blah, blah, but that

doesn’t mean you have to give up fun while

you’re figuring your life out. I want to go have

fun. No one wants to have fun with me anymore,

and that’s all your fault, because you’re the only

one who can put a stop to the misery you and

Ridge are going through. So, yes. You suck. You

suck, you suck, you suck. And if you want to

stop sucking so much, then go get dressed so we

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can go out and not suck together for just a few

hours.”

I don’t know how to argue with that. I do suck.

I suck, I suck, I suck. Only Warren could put it in

such a simple, straightforward way that would

actually make sense. I know I’ve been miserable

the past few months, and it doesn’t help to know

that Ridge has been miserable, too. He’s miser-

able because he’s sitting around waiting for me to

get over whatever it is that’s keeping me from

contacting him.

The last thing he said in his letter to me was

Just say when.

I’ve been trying to say when since the moment

I read that letter, but I’m just too scared. I’ve

never felt about anyone or anything the way I

feel about him, and the thought of our not work-

ing out is enough to keep me from saying that

one little word. I feel as if the longer we wait and

the more time we have to heal, the better chance

we’ll have at our maybe someday.

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I keep waiting for the moment when I know

for sure that he’s moved on from Maggie. I keep

waiting for the moment when I know for sure

that he’s ready to commit fully to me. I keep

waiting for the moment when I know for sure

that I’m not going to be consumed with guilt for

allowing myself to trust someone with my heart

again.

I don’t know when I’ll get to that point, and it

hurts to know that my inability to move forward

is holding Ridge back.

“Now,” Warren says, shoving me out of the

kitchen. “Get dressed.”

? ? ?

I can’t believe I’ve let him talk me into this. I
check my makeup one last time and grab my

purse. As soon as he sees me, he shakes his head.

I huff and throw my hands in the air.

“What now?” I sigh. “I’m not dressed

appropriately?”

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“You look great, but I want you to wear the

blue dress.”

“I burned that dress, remember?” I say.

“The hell you did,” he says, pushing me back

toward my bedroom. “You were wearing it last

week when I stopped by. Go put it on so we can

leave.”

I spin around to face him. “I know how much

you like that dress, and wearing it tonight while

I’m out with you is a little too creepy, Warren.”

He narrows his eyes. “Listen, Syd. I don’t

mean to be rude, but all this moping around for

the past few months has caused you to put on a

little weight. Your ass looks huge in those jeans.

The blue dress may be able to hide a little of that,

so go put it on, or I might be too embarrassed to

go out with you.”

I suddenly feel like slapping him again, but I

know he’s just got a peculiar sense of humor. I

also know he might have a completely different

reason for why he wants me to wear this dress

and I’m trying not to let myself think it has

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anything to do with Ridge, but pretty much every

situation I’m in somehow makes me think about

Ridge. It’s nothing new. But Warren is a guy

who seems to put his foot in his mouth a lot, and

I’m a girl, so I still wonder if his sarcastic remark has any truth to it. I have been replacing the void Ridge left in my life with food. I look down at

my stomach and pat it, then look back up at War-

ren. “You’re an a*shole.”

He nods. “I know.”

The innocent smile on his face makes me in-

stantly forgive any crudeness behind his joke. I

change into the blue dress, but I am so cock-blocking him tonight. Jerk.

? ? ?

“Wow. This is . . . different,” I say, taking in my
surroundings. It’s nothing like the clubs Warren

usually likes to go to. This one is a lot smaller,

without even much of a dance floor. There’s an

empty stage along one wall, but there’s no one

performing tonight. The jukebox is playing, and

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several people are scattered around at tables, talk-

ing quietly among themselves. Warren chooses a

table toward the middle of the room.

“You’re a cheap date,” I say. “You didn’t even

feed me.”

He laughs. “I’ll buy you a burger on the way

home.”

Warren pulls out his phone and begins texting

someone, so I look around for a while. It’s kind

of cozy. It’s also kind of weird that Warren

brought me here. But I’m thinking he doesn’t

have any evil intentions, because he’s not even

paying attention to me.

His attention is on his phone, and he keeps

glancing at the door. I don’t understand why he

wanted to come out tonight, and I especially

don’t understand why he chose this place.

“You’re actually the one who sucks,” I say.

“Stop ignoring me.”

He responds without even looking up at me.

“You aren’t talking, so technically, I’m not ig-

noring you.”

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I’m curious now. He’s not being himself, the

way he’s so distracted. “What’s up with you,

Warren?”

As soon as I ask the question, he looks up from

his phone and smiles over my shoulder, then

stands. “You’re late,” he says to someone behind

me. I look to see Bridgette walking toward us.

“Screw you, Warren,” she says to him with a

small smile. He wraps his arms around her, and

they kiss for several uncomfortable seconds. I

reach up and tap him on the arm when I’m con-

vinced that neither of them can breathe. He pulls

away from Bridgette, winks at her, and slides out

his chair for her.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says to

Bridgette. He points at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

He says it as if it’s a command, and it irritates

me even more because he’s being really rude to-

night. I turn and face Bridgette once he’s left the

table. “Warren said you were working all week-

end,” I say.

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She shrugs. “Yeah, well, he probably told you

that because of the elaborate scheme he has

planned for tonight. He made me come so you

wouldn’t leave when you found out about it. Oh,

and I’m not supposed to tell you any of that, so if

he comes back, play dumb.”

My heart rate escalates. “Please tell me you’re

kidding.”

She shakes her head and raises her arm in the

air, calling over a waiter. “I wish I was kidding. I

had to switch shifts to be here, and now I have to

work a double tomorrow.”

I drop my head into my hands, regretting the

fact that I let Warren talk me into anything. Just

when I’m reaching for my purse to leave, he

walks out onto the empty stage.

“Oh, God,” I groan. “What the hell is he do-

ing?” My stomach is in knots. I have no idea

what he has planned, but whatever it is, it can’t

be good.

He taps on the microphone, then adjusts the

height of it. “I’d like to thank everyone for

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coming tonight. Not that any of you are here for

this particular event, since it’s a surprise, but I

feel the need to thank you anyway.”

He adjusts the microphone once more, then

finds our table in the crowd and waves. “I want

to apologize to you, Syd, because I feel really

bad for lying to you. You haven’t gained weight,

and your ass looked great in those jeans, but you

really needed to wear that dress tonight. Also,

you don’t suck. I lied about that, too.”

Several people in the crowd laugh, but I just

groan and bury my face in my hands, peeking

through my fingers at him up on the stage.

“All right, let’s get on with it, shall we? We

have a few new songs for you tonight. Unfortu-

nately, the whole band couldn’t be here, be-

cause”—he looks to his left at the small width of

the stage, then to his right—“well, I don’t think

they all could have fit. So I’d like to present to

you a small portion of the band Sounds of

Cedar.”

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My heart falls to the floor. I close my eyes

when the crowd begins to clap.

Please, let it be Ridge.

Please, don’t let it be Ridge.

Jesus, when will this confusion go away?

I can hear commotion up on the stage, and I’m

too scared to open my eyes. I want to see him sit-

ting up there so much it hurts.

“Hey, Syd,” Warren says into the microphone.

I inhale a slow, calming breath, then open my

eyes and hesitantly look up at him. “Remember a

few months ago when I told you sometimes we

have to have really bad days in order to keep the

good ones in perspective?”

I think I nod. I can’t really feel my body

anymore.

“Well, this is one of the good days. This is one

of the really good days.” He raises his hand in the

air and motions to my table. “Somebody get that

girl a shot of whatever will help loosen her up.”

He moves the microphone to the stool next to

him, and my eyes are glued to the empty chairs.

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Someone lays a shot on the table in front of me,

and I instantly grab it and down it. I drop the shot

glass back onto the table and look up just in time

to see them walk onto the stage. Brennan is first,

and Ridge is right behind him, carrying a guitar.

Oh, my God. He looks incredible. It’s the first

time I’ve ever seen him on a stage. I’ve been

wanting to watch him perform since the first mo-

ment I heard his guitar on my balcony and here I

am, about to watch my fantasy become reality.

He looks the same as he did the last time I saw

him, just . . . incredible. I guess he looked incred-

ible back then, too. I just didn’t feel right allow-

ing myself to admit it when I knew he wasn’t

mine. I must feel okay about it now, because holy

crap. He’s beautiful. He carries himself with such

confidence and I can definitely see why. His

arms look as if they were built for the sole pur-

pose of carrying a guitar. It molds to him so nat-

urally, it’s as if it’s an extension of him. There

isn’t a shadow of guilt clouding his eyes like

there always was in the past. He’s smiling, like

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he’s excited for what’s about to happen. His en-

igmatic smile lights up his face and his face

lights up the entire room. At least it seems that

way to me. He glances over the audience several

times as he makes his way toward his seat, but he

doesn’t immediately spot me.

He takes a seat on the center stool, and Bren-

nan sits to the left of him, Warren to his right. He

signs to Warren, and Warren points at me. Ridge

looks out into the audience and finds me. My

hands are clamped over my mouth, and my el-

bows are propped up on the table. He smiles and

gives me a nod and my heart crashes to the floor.

I can’t smile or wave or nod back at him. I’m too

nervous to move.

Brennan leans forward and speaks into the mi-

crophone. “We’ve got a few new songs—”

His voice is cut off when Ridge pulls the mi-

crophone away from him and leans in toward it.

“Sydney,” Ridge says into the microphone,

“some of these songs I wrote with you. Some of

these songs I wrote for you.”

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I can hear a small difference in the way he

speaks now. I’ve never heard him say so much at

once out loud. He also seems to enunciate a little

more clearly than the few times he’s spoken to

me in the past, like the subject in the photograph

is slightly more in focus. It’s obvious he’s been

working on it, and knowing he’s continued to

talk out loud makes my eyes tear up without even

having heard a song yet.

“If you aren’t ready to say the word, that’s

fine,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as you need me

to. I just hope you don’t mind this interruption to-

night.” He pushes the microphone away, then

looks down to his guitar. Brennan leans into the

microphone and looks at me.

“He can’t hear what I’m saying right now, so

I’ll take this opportunity to tell you Ridge is full

of shit. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He

wants you to say the word more than he wants

air. So please, for the sake of all that is holy, say the word tonight.”

I laugh as I wipe a tear from my eye.

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Ridge plays the opening chords to “Trouble,”

and I finally realize why Warren made me wear

this dress. Brennan leans forward and begins to

sing, and I remain completely immobile as War-

ren signs every word to the song while Ridge

keeps his focus on the fingers strumming his gui-

tar. Watching the three of them together, seeing

the beauty they can create from a few words and

guitars, is mesmerizing.

Ridge

When the song ends, I look up at her.

She’s crying, but those tears are accompanied

by a smile, and that’s exactly what I was hoping I

would see when I looked up from my guitar. See-

ing her for the first time since I kissed her good-

bye has a far greater effect on me than I thought

it would. I’m trying my damndest to remember

what it is I’m here to do, but all I want to do is

toss my guitar aside, rush to her, and kiss her

crazy.

Instead, I keep my eyes trained on hers while I

play another song she helped me write. I begin

the opening chords to “Maybe Someday.” She

smiles and clutches a hand to her chest while she

watches me play.

It’s times like these I’m actually thankful I

can’t hear. Not being distracted by anything at all

allows me to focus on nothing but her. I can feel

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the music vibrating in my chest as I watch her

lips singing along to the lyrics until the very last

line.

I planned on playing a few more songs we

wrote together, but seeing her has changed my

mind. I want to get to the new songs I wrote for

her, because I absolutely need to see her reaction

to them. I start one of them, knowing Warren and

Brennan will have no problem falling into step

with the change-up. Her eyes glisten when she

realizes that this is a song she’s never heard be-

fore, and she leans forward in her chair, focusing

intently on the three of us.

Sydney

There are only twenty-six letters in the English

alphabet. You would think there would only be

so much you could do with twenty-six letters.

You would think there were only so many ways

those letters could make you feel when mixed up

and shoved together to make words.

However, there are infinite ways those twenty-

six letters can make a person feel, and this song

is living proof. I’ll never understand how a few

simple words strung together can change a per-

son, but this song, these words, are completely

changing me. I feel like my maybe someday just became my right now.

HOLD ON TO YOU

The cool air running through my hair

Nights like these, doesn’t seem fair

For you and I to be so far away

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The stars all shimmer like a melody

Like they’re playing for you and me

But only I can hear their sound

Maybe if I ask them they will play for you

I try wishing on one, maybe I’ll try two

It doesn’t look like there’s much for me to

do

I want to hold on to you

Just like these memories I can’t undo

I want to hold on to you

Without you here that’s kind of hard to do

I want to hold

I want to hold on to you

The front seat’s empty, and I know

When it’s just me I seem to go

To places I never wanted to

I need you here to be a light

Star in the sky brighten up my night

Sometimes I need the dark to see

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So come on, come on, turn it on for me

Just a little light, and I’ll be able to see

Promise like a comet you won’t fly by me

I want to hold on to you

Just like these memories I can’t undo

I want to hold on to you

Without you here that’s kind of hard to do

I want to hold

I want to hold on to you

Ridge

I finish the song and don’t give myself time to

look up at her before I begin playing another one.

I’m afraid if I look at her, I’ll lose every bit of

willpower still keeping me up on this stage. I

want to go to her so bad, but I know how import-

ant it is for her to hear this next song. I also don’t want to be the one to make the final choice. If

she’s ready to be with me, she knows what I need

from her. If she’s not ready, I’ll respect her

decision.

However, if she’s not ready to begin the life I

know we could have together by the end of this

song, I don’t know if she’ll ever be ready.

I keep my eyes trained on my fingers as they

work the strings of the guitar. I glance at Bren-

nan, and he leans forward into the microphone,

his voice starting on cue. I glance to Warren, and

he begins signing the words.

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I slowly scan the crowd and find her again.

Our eyes lock.

I don’t look away.

Sydney

“Wow,” Bridgette whispers. Her eyes are glued

to the stage just like mine. Just like every other

pair of eyes in the room. The three of them make

one hell of a team, but knowing that these words

are Ridge’s words and he wrote them specifically

for me leaves me feeling more than over-

whelmed. I can’t look away from him. For the

entire length of the song, I barely move. I barely

breathe.

LET IT BEGIN

Time went fast

Time went fast till it was gone

You think it’s right

You think it’s right until it’s wrong

Even after all this time

I still want you

Even after all my mind

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Put me through

So won’t you

Won’t you let it begin

So won’t you

Won’t you let it begin

You hold it out

You hold your heart out in your hand

I snatch it up

I snatch it up fast as I can

Even after all this time

I still want you

Even after all my mind

Put me through

I stand here at your door

Until you come and let me in

I want to be your end

But you gotta let it begin

So won’t you

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Won’t you let it begin

So won’t you

Won’t you just say when

Ridge

Our gazes never deviate from each other.

Throughout the song, her focus remains solely on

mine and mine on hers. When the song ends, I

don’t move. I wait for her mind and her life to

catch up to her heart, and I hope it happens soon.

Tonight. Right now.

She wipes tears from her eyes, then lifts her

hands. She holds up her left index finger, brings

her right index finger close to the left and circles

it around, and then the tips of her fingers touch.

I can’t move.

She just signed for me.

She just said “when.”

Seeing her sign is something I never expected.

It’s something I never would have even asked her

to do. Learning how to communicate with me the

whole time we’ve been apart is the most amazing

thing anyone has ever done for me.

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I’m shaking my head, unable to get it through

my mind that this girl is willingly mine and she’s

perfect and beautiful and good and, holy shit, I

love her so much.

She’s smiling, but I’m still frozen in shock.

She laughs at my response and signs the word

again, several times. “When, when, when.”

Brennan shoves my shoulder, and I look over

at him. He laughs. “Go,” he signs, nodding his

head in Sydney’s direction. “Go get your girl.”

I immediately drop my guitar to the floor and

rush off the stage. She pushes away from her

table as soon as she sees me making my way to-

ward her. She’s only a few feet away, but I can’t

get to her fast enough. I take in the dress she has

on and make a mental note to thank Warren later.

I have a feeling he had something to do with that.

I look into her tear-filled eyes when I finally

reach her. She’s smiling up at me, and for the

first time since the moment I met her, we’re look-

ing at each other without a trace of guilt or worry

or regret or shame.

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She throws her arms around my neck, and I

pull her to me and bury my face in her hair. I

hold her head firmly against me and close my

eyes. We hold on to each other as if we’re afraid

to let go.

I can feel her crying, so I put enough space

between us so I can look into her eyes. She lifts

her head, and I’ve never seen tears look more

beautiful.

“You signed,” I say out loud.

She smiles. “You spoke. A lot.”

“I’m not very good at it,” I admit. I know my

words are hard to understand, and I still feel un-

comfortable when I speak, but I love seeing her

eyes when she hears my voice. It makes me want

to speak every single word I possibly can right

here and now.

“I’m not good, either,” she says. She pulls

away from me and lifts her hands to sign. “War-

ren has been helping me. I only know about two

hundred words, but I’m learning.”

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It’s been several months since I last saw her,

and while I’ve been trying to believe she still

wanted to be with me, I did have my doubts. I

was starting to question our decision to wait be-

fore starting our relationship. What I never ex-

pected was for her to spend those months learn-

ing how to communicate with me in a way my

own parents didn’t even care enough to learn.

“I just fell completely in love with you,” I say

to her. I glance at Bridgette, who is still seated at the table. “Did you see it, Bridgette? Did you see

me just fall in love with her?”

Bridgette rolls her eyes, and I feel Sydney

laugh. I look back down at her. “I did. Like

twenty seconds ago. I fell completely in love

with you.”

She smiles and mouths her next words slowly

so I can understand her. “I fell first.”

When the last word passes her lips, I catch it

with my mouth. Since the second I walked away

from these lips, I’ve done nothing but think about

the moment I would get to taste them again. She

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pulls me tightly against her, and I kiss her hard,

then delicately, then fast and slow and every way

in between. I kiss her every way I can possibly

kiss her, because I plan on loving her every way I

can possibly love her. Every single time we re-

fused to cave in to our feelings in the past makes

this kiss completely worth the sacrifices. This

kiss is worth all the tears, all the heartache, all the pain, all the struggles, all the waiting.

She’s worth it all.

She’s worth more.

Sydney

We make it to my apartment somehow between

all the kissing. He releases me long enough to let

me unlock the door, but he loses his patience as

soon as it’s unlocked. I laugh when he shoves the

door open and pushes me inside. He closes the

door, locks it, and turns around to face me again.

We look at each other for several seconds.

“Hi,” he says simply.

I laugh. “Hi.”

He looks around the room nervously before his

eyes fall back to mine. “Is that good enough?” he

asks.

I cock my head, because I don’t really under-

stand his question. “Is what good enough?”

He grins. “I was hoping that was enough talk

for tonight.”

Oh.

I get his question now.

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I nod slowly, and he smiles, then steps forward

and kisses me. He bends slightly and lifts me by

the waist, wrapping my legs around him. He se-

cures his arms around my back and begins walk-

ing me toward my bedroom.

As many times as I’ve seen this happen in

movies and read about it in books, I’ve never ac-

tually been picked up and carried by a man be-

fore. I think I’m in love with it. Being carried in-

to a bedroom by Ridge is quite possibly my new

favorite thing out of any and all things.

That is, until he kicks my bedroom door shut

behind him. Maybe Ridge kicking doors shut is

my new favorite thing.

He gently lowers me to the bed, and even

though I’m sad that he’s not carrying me any-

more, I’m a little bit happier to find myself be-

neath him. Every single move he makes is better

and sexier than the last one. He pauses for a mo-

ment as he hovers over me, and his eyes roam

sensually over my entire body, until they come to

a pause on the hem of my dress. He reaches

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down and pushes it up, and I lift myself up off

the bed just enough for him to pull it over my

head.

He sucks in a breath when he looks down at

me and sees that the only thing coming between

him and a completely naked me is a very thin

layer of panty. He begins to lower himself on top

of me, but I push on his chest and shake my head,

tugging on his shirt to let him know it’s his turn.

He grins and quickly pulls his shirt over his head,

then leans in toward me again. I push against him

once more, and he reluctantly lifts himself up,

shooting me a look of amused annoyance. I point

to his jeans, and he backs away from the bed, and

in two swift movements, the rest of his clothes

are somewhere on my bedroom floor. I don’t

quite catch where he tossed them, because my

eyes are sort of preoccupied.

He makes his way on top of me again, and I

don’t stop him this time. I welcome him by wrap-

ping my legs around his waist and my arms

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around his back and guiding his mouth back to

mine.

We mold and fit together so perfectly it’s as if

we were made for this sole purpose. His left hand

fits perfectly into mine as he brings my arm

above my head and presses it into the mattress.

His tongue melds perfectly with mine as he con-

tinues to tease my entire mouth as if it were made

for this very purpose. His right hand seamlessly

conforms to my outer thigh as he digs his fingers

into my skin and shifts his weight perfectly

against me.

His mouth leaves mine long enough to taste

my jaw . . . my neck . . . my shoulder.

I don’t know how being consumed by him

could lend clarity to my purpose in life, but it ab-

solutely feels that way. Everything about me and

him and life makes so much more sense when

we’re together like this. He makes me feel more

beautiful. More important. More loved. More

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second that passes, I become more and more

greedy, wanting all of every single part of him.

I push against his chest, needing space

between us so I can sign to him. He looks down

at my hands when he realizes what I’m doing. I

hope I get it right, because I’ve practiced signing

this sentence no fewer than a thousand times

since I last saw him.

“I have something I need to say before we do

this.”

He pulls back a few inches, watching my

hands, waiting.

I sign the words “I love you.”

His eyebrows draw apart, and relief floods his

eyes. He lowers his mouth to my hands and

kisses them, over and over, then quickly pulls

farther away, unwrapping my legs from around

his waist. Just when I begin to fear he’s come to

some absurd notion that we need to stop, he

lowers himself to my side but leans over me and

presses his ear against my chest.

“I want to feel you say it.”

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I press my lips into his hair, then lightly secure

him against me. “I love you, Ridge,” I whisper.

His grip tightens around my waist, so I contin-

ue repeating it several times.

I keep his head pressed against my chest with

both hands. He releases his grip on my waist and

trails his hand over my stomach, causing my

muscles to clench beneath his touch. He contin-

ues stroking his hand in sensuous circles over my

stomach. I stop repeating the words and focus on

where his hand is traveling, but he stops abruptly.

“I don’t feel you saying it,” he says.

“I love you,” I quickly repeat. When the words

leave my lips, his fingers begin moving again. As

soon as I’m quiet, his fingers stop.

It doesn’t take me long to figure out what

game he’s playing. I grin and say it again.

“I love you.”

His fingers slip inside the top edge of my

panties, and my voice grows quiet again. It’s

really hard for me to speak when his hand is that

close. It’s really hard to do anything. His fingers

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come to a pause just inside my panties when he

doesn’t feel me talking. I want his hand to keep

moving, so I somehow breathe the words.

“I love you.”

His hand slides further inside and stops. I close

my eyes and say it again. Slowly.

“I . . . love . . . you.”

What he does next with his hand causes me to

repeat the words again instantly.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again and again and again, until my

panties are somewhere on the floor, and I’ve said

the words so many times and so fast that I’m al-

most screaming them now. He continues to prove

with the expertise of his hand that he’s quite pos-

sibly the absolute best listener I’ve ever

encountered.

“I love you,” I whisper one last time between

faltered and shallow breaths. I’m too weak to ut-

ter the words again, and my hands fall away from

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his head and land against the mattress with a

thud.

He lifts his head away from my chest and

scoots upward until his face is so close to mine

our noses brush. “I love you, too,” he says with a

smug grin.

I smile, but my smile fades when he rolls away

from me, leaving me alone on the bed. I’m too

exhausted and spent to reach out for him.

However, he returns to the bed as quickly as he

left it. He tears open a condom wrapper and

keeps his eyes focused on mine, never once look-

ing away.

The way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only

thing that matters in his world, makes the mo-

ment take on a whole new feel. I’m completely

consumed, not by waves of pleasure but by

waves of raw emotion. I didn’t know I could feel

someone this much. I didn’t know I could need

someone this much. I had no idea I was capable

of sharing this kind of connection with someone.

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Ridge lifts a hand and wipes away a tear from

my temple, then dips his head and kisses me,

gentle and soft, coaxing even more tears out of

me. It’s the perfect kiss for the perfect moment. I

know he feels what I’m feeling, because my tears

don’t alarm him at all. He knows they’re not tears

of regret or sadness. They’re simply tears. Emo-

tional tears stemming from an emotional moment

that I never imagined could be this incredible.

He’s waiting patiently for my permission, so I

nod softly, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.

He lowers his cheek to mine and slowly begins to

ease himself against me. I squeeze my eyes shut

and focus on trying to relax, but my entire body

is way too tense.

I’ve only ever had sex with one guy, and he

didn’t mean half as much to me as Ridge does.

The thought of sharing this experience with

Ridge, as much as I want to, makes me so

nervous I’m physically unable to hide my

discomfort.

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He can sense my apprehension, so he pauses

and stills himself above me. I love how in tune he

is with me already. He looks down at me, his

dark brown eyes searching mine. He takes both

of my hands and pulls them over my head, then

laces our fingers together and presses them into

the mattress. He leans into my ear. “Want me to

stop?”

I quickly shake my head no.

He laughs softly. “Then you have to relax,

Syd.”

I bite my bottom lip and nod, completely lov-

ing the fact that he just said “Syd” out loud. He

runs his nose down my jaw-line, then brings his

lips close to mine. Every touch sends waves of

heat coursing through me, but it doesn’t ease my

apprehension. Everything about this moment is

so perfect I’m afraid I might do something to

mess it up. It can’t get any better, so that only

leaves things with one direction to go.

“Are you nervous?” he asks. His voice brushes

across my mouth, and I slide my tongue over my

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bottom lip, convinced that I could taste his words

if I tried.

I nod, and his eyes soften with his smile.

“Me, too,” he whispers. He squeezes my hands

tighter and then lays his head across my bare

chest. I can feel the rhythm of his body rise and

fall against mine with every tense breath. His en-

tire body sighs, and one by one, each muscle be-

gins to relax. His hands are still, and he’s not ex-

ploring my body or listening to me sing or having

me tell him I love him.

He’s still, because he’s listening to me.

He’s listening to the beat of my heart.

His head lifts off my chest in one swift motion

as he locks eyes with mine. Whatever realization

he’s just had causes his gaze to pierce mine with

excitement.

“Do you have earplugs?” he says.

Earplugs?

I know the confusion can be seen in my ex-

pression. I nod anyway and point to the night-

stand. He leans over me, opens the drawer, and

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feels around inside. When he finds them, he

lowers himself beside me again, then places them

in the palm of my hand. He motions for me to put

them in my ears.

“Why?”

He smiles and kisses me, then trails his lips to

my ear. “I want you to hear me love you.”

I look down at the earplugs, then back up at

him questioningly. “How can I hear you if I’m

wearing these?”

He shakes his head, then places his hands over

my ears. “Not here,” he says. He moves a hand to

my chest. “I want you to hear me from right

here.”

That’s all the explanation I need. I quickly put

the earplugs in, then adjust my head on my pil-

low. All the noise around me slowly fades away.

I wasn’t aware of all the sounds I was taking in

until they no longer run through my head. I don’t

hear the clock ticking anymore. I no longer hear

the usual activity outside my window. I can’t

hear the sheets moving beneath us or the pillow

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under my head or the bed when he shifts his

weight.

I hear nothing.

He grabs my hand and opens up my palm, then

turns my hand around and places it over my

heart. Once my palm is flush against my heart, he

reaches to my face and brushes his hand over my

eyes, closing them. He scoots himself away from

me until he’s no longer touching any part of me.

He becomes still, and I no longer feel him

moving next to me.

It’s quiet.

It’s dark.

I hear absolutely nothing. I’m not sure this is

working out the way he imagined.

I hear nothing but complete silence. I hear

what Ridge hears every moment of his life. The

only thing I’m aware of is my own heartbeat and

nothing else. Nothing at all.

Wait.

My heartbeat.

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I open my eyes and look at him. He’s several

inches away from me on the bed, smiling. He

knows I hear it. He smiles softly, then pulls my

hand away from my heart and places it against

his chest. Tears begin to well in my eyes. I have

no idea how or if I even deserve him, but there’s

one thing I know for sure. As long as he’s a part

of it, I’ll never live a life of mediocrity. My life

with Ridge will be nothing short of remarkable.

He rolls on top of me and lowers his cheek to

mine, holding completely still for several long

seconds.

I can’t hear his breaths, but I feel them as they

fall against my neck.

I can’t hear his movements, but I feel him

when he begins making the softest, most subtle

shifts against me.

Our hands are still locked between us, so I fo-

cus on the beat of his heart, drumming against

my palm.

Beat, beat, pause.

Beat, beat, pause.

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Beat, beat, pause.

I can feel my entire body relaxing beneath him

while he continues to make the subtlest of move-

ments against me. He presses his hips into mine

for two seconds, then relaxes and pulls back for a

brief second before repeating the motion. He re-

peats this movement several times, and I can feel

my need for him growing with each rhythmic

movement against me.

The more my desire builds, the more impatient

I become. I want to feel his mouth on mine. I

want to feel his hands all over me. I want to feel

him push inside me and make me his completely.

The more I think about what I want from him,

the more responsive I become to the subtle shifts

of his weight against me. The more responsive I

become, the faster our hearts race against the

palms of our hands.

Beat, beat, pause.

Beatbeat, pause.

Beatbeat pause.

Beatbeat pause.

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The faster our hearts race, the quicker his

rhythm becomes, matching each beat of my heart

movement for movement.

I gasp.

He’s moving to the sound of my heart.

I wrap my free arm around his neck and focus

on his heartbeat, instantly aware that our hearts

are perfectly in sync. I tighten my legs around his

waist and lift myself against him, wanting him to

make my heart beat even faster. He skims his lips

across my cheek until they’re flush against my

mouth, but he doesn’t kiss me. The silence

around me makes me even more aware of the

pattern of his breath falling against my skin. I fo-

cus on my palm against his chest and feel his

quick intake of air, seconds before I taste the

sweetness of his breath as he exhales, teasing my

mouth.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

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His rhythmic breathing becomes quicker when

his tongue slips inside my mouth, gently caress-

ing the tip of mine.

If I could hear, I’m positive I would have just

heard myself whimper. It’s becoming a habit

whenever he’s around.

I move my hand to the back of his head, need-

ing to taste more of him. I pull him to me with

such sudden urgency he moans into my mouth.

Feeling his moan without hearing it is probably

the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced. His

voice as it passes through me does more than

hearing it ever could.

Ridge slides his hand away from my heart and

presses his forearms into the mattress on both

sides of my head. He boxes me in with his arms,

and I slide my hand away from his chest, needing

to grab hold of him with all my strength. What

little I have left, anyway.

I feel him pull farther back, and then, without

hesitation, he pushes inside me, claiming me,

filling me.

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I . . .

Can’t . . .

My heart.

Christ. He just silenced my heart, because I

can no longer feel it at all. The only thing I feel is him moving against me . . . away from me . . . inside of me . . . into me. I’m completely consumed

by him.

I keep my eyes closed and listen to him

without hearing a thing, experiencing him si-

lently, the same way he’s experiencing me. I soak

in every single beautiful thing about the smooth-

ness of his skin and the feel of his breath and the

taste of our moans, until it’s impossible to tell us

apart.

We continue to explore each other quietly,

finding all the parts of ourselves we’ve only been

able to imagine up to this point.

When my body begins to tense again, it’s not

at all because I’m nervous this time. I can sense

his muscles clenching beneath my hands, and I

grip his shoulders, ready to fall with him. He

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presses his cheek firmly to mine, and I feel him

groan against my neck, making two final, long

thrusts at the same second as I feel the moans es-

caping my throat.

He begins to tremble with his release but

somehow pulls his hand between us again and

presses it against my heart. He’s shaking against

me, and I’m doing my best to regain control of

my own shudders while he begins to slow him-

self down, once again to the rhythm of my heart.

His movements grow so soft and subtle I can

barely feel them through all the tears I’m crying.

I don’t even know why I’m crying, because this

is by far the most indescribable feeling that has

ever come over me.

Maybe that’s why I’m crying.

Ridge relaxes on top of me and brings his

mouth back to mine. He kisses me so softly and

for so long my tears eventually subside and are

replaced with complete silence, accompanied

only by the rhythm of our hearts.

Ridge

I close the bathroom door and return to her on the

bed. Her face is illuminated by the moonlight

pouring through the windows. Her mouth is

curled up into a soft smile as I lower myself

down beside her. I slide my arm beneath her

shoulders, then lay my head on her chest and

close my eyes.

I love the sound of her.

I love her. Everything about her. I love that she’s never judged me. I love that she understands me. I love that despite everything I’ve put

her heart through, she’s done nothing but support

my decisions, no matter how much they des-

troyed her at the time. I love her honesty. I love

her selflessness. Most of all, I love that I’m the

one who gets to love all these things about her.

“I love you,” I feel her say.

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I close my eyes and listen as she continues to

repeat the phrase again and again. I adjust my ear

until it’s directly over her heart, savoring every

single thing about her. Her smell, her touch, her

voice, her love.

I’ve never felt so much at once.

I’ve never needed to feel more.

I lift my head and look back down into her

eyes.

She’s a part of me now.

I’m a part of her.

I kiss her softly on the nose and mouth and

chin, then press my ear against her heart again.

For the first time in my life, I hear absolutely

everything.

Acknowledgments

So many people to thank and so few words to do

it in. First, not a single book I’ve started writing

would ever reach the end if it weren’t for those

who encourage me and give me feedback along

the way. In no particular order, these people de-

serve a huge thanks for always tagging along dur-

ing the writing process.

Christina Collie, Gloria Green, Autumn Hull,

Tammara Webber, Tracey-Garvis Graves, Karen

Lawson, Jamie McGuire, Abbi Glines, Marion

Archer, Mollie Harper, Vannoy Fite, Lin Reyn-

olds, Kaci Blue-Buckley, Pamela Carrion, Jenny

Aspinall, Sarah Hansen, Madison Seidler, Aestas,

Natasha Tomic, Kay Miles, Sali-Benbow Powers,

Vilma Gonzalez, Crystal Cobb, Dana Ferrell, the

ever-supportive Kathryn Perez, and everyone else

I’ve bugged along the way.

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Thank you to my girls of FP. There are no

words. Except these seventeen words, I guess.

Thank you, Joel and Julie Williams, for being

amazingly supportive.

Tarryn Fisher, for being my confidence and

also my reality check.

My husband and boys, for being the best four

men on the planet.

Elizabeth Gunderson and Carol Keith McWil-

liams for your feedback, knowledge, and support.

You are simply beautiful, and I couldn’t have

done it without either of you.

Jane Dystel and the entire Dystel & Goderich

team for their continued support.

Judith Curr, publisher of Atria Books, and her

team for going above and beyond their duties.

Your support is unmatched.

To my editor, Johanna Castillo. To say I was

nervous about delivering my first stand-alone to

you is an understatement. I should have known

better than to be nervous, because the two of us

make a great team. I am so lucky to have you.

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A HUGE thank-you to the Maybe Someday

team: Chris Peterson, Murphy Fennell, and

Stephanie Cohen. You guys rocked it.

And last, but definitely not least, Griffin

Peterson. Thank you. A million times thank you.

Your talent and work ethic can’t go unmentioned,

but your support and enthusiasm go above and

beyond. There isn’t even an emoji worthy

enough.

Oh, and to Dave and Pooh Bear, just for the

heck of it.

About the Author

Colleen Hoover is the number 1 New York Times

best-selling author of Slammed, Point of Retreat, Hopeless, This Girl, Losing Hope, and Finding Cinderella. Colleen lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Please visit

www.ColleenHoover.com.

Colleen Hoover's books