“Thank you,” I whispered, touched to the bottom of my soul. “It’s perfect. You have no idea what this means to me.”
He set his Taylor down and reached out to take my hand, gently running his thumb over my IV. “And you have no idea what you mean to me.” He shook his head and looked pained as if it were difficult to swallow. “Because I never told you. Jesus, Remy... You can’t even imagine what it was like to hold your unconscious body in my arms and realize I never got to tell you.”
“Asher,” I started, shaking my head. “You don’t have to—”
But he shook his head, stopping me. “I want to. I want to tell you now. I love you too, Remy. I’ve fallen so fucking in love with you this past month without even realizing it, I...” He stopped talking and shook his head as if he wanted to stop again. Then he closed his eyes briefly before opening them and looking straight at me. “Te amo,” he said.
Happy tears filled my eyes. But then I shook my head. “You really don’t have to say that just because I almost died. You—”
“I’m not. I promise you.” Lifting my hand to his mouth, he kissed my knuckles. “I was just trying to figure out how to best say it to you when I came home and found you on the floor.”
I sucked in a shuddered, surprised breath. “You were?”
He nodded, then leaned forward and pressed his forehead to my arm. “Te amo. Eres mi nena, mi chica.”
A grin exploded from me. “?Dios mío! That was...said perfectly.” Relieved joy spread through me as his lips crashed to mine. I opened my mouth to him and our tongues tangled. He scooted closer and I gripped his hair harder. His fingers found the side of my throat and drifted over my thrumming pulse. He didn’t pull away until voices of nurses outside my room door made us jump apart.
Simultaneously, we each touched our own lips, still remembering the kiss. Then we broke out grinning together.
I shook my head, beyond amazed this was actually happening. “Who taught you how to say that?”
Laughing, he blushed a little and admitted, “Tomás might’ve coached me.”
“Big T?” The mention of my cousin had me glancing around expectantly.
But Asher said, “He had to go. Grumbled something about filling in a shift for you at the restaurant since your lazy ass wasn’t going to work in the morning...his words.”
I grinned. “Sounds like him.”
“Your uncle and grandmother were here too. Along with Jodi and...Gally and Holden.”
“Really?” I arched my eyebrows. “They must’ve thought they’d get extra good sex from Jodi if they showed up.”
Asher shook his head. “You know them well.” Then he wrinkled his brow. “I don’t know if Non-Castrato will make it. I don’t know...shit, I don’t know a lot of stuff. All I know is that from here on out, I’m going to be wherever you are. And I’ll probably be the happiest man alive.”
“?Oh, Dios mío!” I sobbed with overwhelming joy as a tear of happiness slid down my cheek. “You could say shit like that to me every day.”
“I plan to, mi nena. I plan to.” He leaned in, looking intent to kiss me again, but then he paused and winced. “But I should probably tell you first...you were kind of right about my dad.”
Four Years Later
Well, Non-Castrato ended up surviving. We did lose one more member of the band, but surprisingly—or maybe I should say sadly—it wasn’t Gally. Heath Holden left the group right about the time Asher’s dad had been sentenced for another ten years in prison, or more importantly right around the time Jodi dropped him and Billy both, and took up with some dude in a motorcycle club. Well, she said club...I called it a gang, but whatever.
Speaking of Miller Hart. Asher hadn’t been the victim of any more wire-cutting pranks or the like after his dad was arrested the day he’d given me the chocolates, so we all agreed he had been behind them, after all. And yes, being right about that felt so good!
Anyway, my cousin Tomás was more than happy to take up with Non-Castrato when Heath dropped out, playing the lead guitar and singing backup for Asher, much to the disappointment of Tío Alonso. Big T adjusted quite well to rock music, though. He especially liked the flock of women it brought. And Asher certainly didn’t help my cousin’s new man-whore ways in the least because he always shooed the ladies Big T’s way.
Not that I wanted him to keep any for himself. No, Asher Hart was all mine, and only mine.
And life was good. Oh, so...good.
We were both sweaty and exhausted after our performance at the Metro—yes, I said the freaking Metro, baby—but jazzed and ready to see our friends as he tugged me into the back of the cab behind him, then right into his lap so he could wrap his arms around my waist and kiss me soundly.
I kissed him back a few seconds before pulling away to laugh and yell, “?Dios mío! I can’t believe we just played at the Metro.”