“But seriously, once the shock of everything wore off and I’d had a chance to settle down, I realized how insane I sounded. No matter what the circumstances were, I knew you weren’t capable of the things I was trying to blame you for. I knew you weren’t the person I was making you out to be. Of course you weren’t. It seems so obvious to me now, that I was letting my past ruin my future.” He shakes his head. “I knew I needed to fix things, but I wanted to close the book on Brawler first. Let’s face it, this job has been an issue between us since day one. I figured if I could just see the deal through, then maybe we could move forward with a clean slate.”
“I guess that explains the radio silence.” Not that it excuses his disappearing act, but I suppose his rationale does make a certain kind of sense.
“The day I signed the deal?” he says, and I nod, urging him on. “It should’ve been the best day of my life. I’d finally reached the finish line I’d been running toward for so many years. Everything I’d worked for was coming true.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And I was fucking miserable. People kept congratulating me, and it made me want to scream. It all just felt so pointless. At one point Tom asked what I wanted to do to celebrate, and my only thought was that I just wanted to hear your voice.” He meets my gaze. “I hated that you weren’t there. And I hated myself even more because I only had myself to blame for it.”
The corner of his mouth hitches up. “So I came up with a foolproof plan to get you back: I’d apologize for disappearing, then follow you around until you agreed to give me another chance. Imagine my surprise when I went over to your apartment and found out you’d ghosted me first!” He’s indignant.
I cough a laugh, grateful for the break in tension. “Now that is a lie.”
“Is it? Let’s consider the evidence.” There’s a gleam in his eye as he holds up one finger. “You moved and didn’t tell me.”
“Had you been speaking to me, you would have known I moved,” I say dryly.
He holds up a second finger, undeterred. “I went to the Siren offices to find you, which, incidentally, posed quite a risk to my personal safety. That place is full of women who despise me.”
I suck in a breath. “You didn’t.”
“I did. I was told you no longer worked there and was escorted off the premises by Cynthia herself.”
I cover my mouth. “You’re lying.”
His lips twitch. “Fine, that part was a lie. But they were not happy to see me,” he says when I reach across the chair to shove him in the shoulder. “Things got a little dicey. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a restraining order out against me.” He’s kidding.
“I quit Siren.”
His eyebrow spikes.
“Honestly, it was time. This whole thing just gave me the push I needed.” I watch Asher lift his leg and take a nice long pee on Gran’s rosebushes. “The good news is, I’ve been writing like crazy. I took your advice and finally got off the sidelines,” I say pointedly. I can’t resist the dig.
He looks properly remorseful, hanging his head. “I never should have said what I did.”
“It was less what you said and more how you said it that was the problem.” The word coward flickers in my brain but I banish it, this time for good. You’re not a coward. You’re a fearless balloon-popper.
“I was an asshole lashing out any way I could think of. I’m so ashamed of the way I behaved. An apology isn’t nearly enough.”
No argument there. “Well, sometimes the truth hurts. And despite your god-awful delivery, I suppose some tough love wasn’t the worst thing for me,” I acknowledge grudgingly. “I can’t argue with the results, at any rate.”
“You’re being far too understanding.” He shakes his head, refusing my compassion. “There’s no excuse for the way I spoke to you. I want you to depend on me, not wonder if I’ll disappear whenever the going gets rough. The way I behaved . . . it’s not who I am. I hope you’ll give me another chance to prove that.”
My heart squeezes at the vulnerability in his voice, and any lingering vindictiveness I may have been hanging on to evaporates in a puff of smoke. “How about next time, we commit to actually talking things through instead of letting six weeks go by? Just an idea.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, the phrase next time glowing in the air between us like a lightning bug. He reaches a hand out between our chairs—an apology, an olive branch, and a promise all wrapped in one—and lets it hang there, patiently waiting, until I clasp it and hold on for dear life. I may never let go.
I stare at him, letting my eyes travel a leisurely field trip across his face, taking a slow and steady inventory of all the little details I’ve missed so much: the dimple bracketing the corner of his mouth; his hair, ruffled and windswept, my favorite wayward front tendril misbehaving even more than usual; the stubbled jaw I’m desperate to graze my knuckles over; the gleaming blue of his eyes, clear as sea glass.
I love him. And no matter what potholes and speed bumps we’ve encountered on our path to get here, I know I always will. What was it Gran said? All love is a leap of faith.
Well, I’ve looked, and I’m leaping.
He gives my hand a little tug and I take the hint, sliding off my lounger and hopscotching over to his. His arms automatically open for me and I climb on, curling up against his side and resting my head against the solid cushion of his chest. This chair definitely isn’t built for two—the wrought iron arm is digging into my spinal cord—but right now, it may as well be a bed of roses.
“I know who you are, Jack.” I give in to the temptation and trace a fingertip along his jaw, the familiar prickle of his stubble lighting a fire in my belly. “And I’ve already forgiven you. That is, if you can forgive me.”
The words have barely escaped my lips when he presses his mouth to mine, kissing me so passionately that any mature, articulate thoughts I may have had about absolution instantly fly out of my head, leaving only raw desire in their place. This kiss is not patient or gentle; it’s crushing, bruising, intense. It’s weeks of pent-up emotion and angst, yearning and hunger. It’s a pot boiling over, a raging wildfire consuming everything in its path.
I can’t believe I’ve gone so long without this. It’s been six weeks since he touched me, six weeks since he learned my body so thoroughly, and he makes it clear he hasn’t forgotten an inch. His hands roam and rediscover and I let him take his fill, then steal mine in return. We kiss and taste and worship to our heart’s content and I don’t know how much time has passed before I come to, but when I do I’m straddling him like a horny cowgirl.
“Jack,” I say breathlessly. I’m panting like a hiker at high elevation. “I hate to do this—and I mean I really hate to do this—but we have to stop.”
“But do we really?” he murmurs, his lips placing swirling kisses beneath my ear, his hand slipped beneath my sweater and splayed against the bare skin of my rib cage.
“We do, because I can pretty much guarantee my grandmother has found a way to spy on us.”
That stops him cold.
I drop my head into his neck and laugh as I roll off him. “If I’d known all I needed to say was ‘I forgive you,’ I would’ve done it sooner,” I tease, fanning myself.
“You know who hasn’t forgiven me? Cliff. He’s barely said two words to me since you stopped coming around. He won’t even look me in the eye. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be hated by your doorman?”