Body and soul.
“All I fuckin’ do is make you cry. Hurt you more. But I’m done, Blue. So fucking done with that. I know you think my apologies don’t count for anything, but this one…this one is all I have to give. I’m so fucking sorry for the things I said. For the things I did. I won’t try to make excuses or pretend the way I treated you was right…but I need you to know I was trying to protect my heart because I thought it could only belong to my son.”
My chest heaved and he drew in a ragged breath. “And there you were, breaking up all the broken, brittle parts and making room for something different. For something better. Waking me up from the dead. Making me realize what it’s like to feel again. Making me feel things I’ve never felt before. You were making room for you.”
“Lyrik.” It was so soft. Broken like this boy.
Energy swelled. The storm gained speed.
The buzz before the strike.
My entire body shook, all my hopes floating to the surface, clashing with my fears. With that image branded in my memory, the picture of him and the girl, the words he’d said when I found it.
Not you.
“If you still love her—”
He gripped my jaw, forcing me to stop talking and to look up at him. “No, Blue. I don’t. It’s you. It’s you.”
Lyrik suddenly dropped to his knees on the grass.
An offering.
“Do you hear me?”
And for the first time, I was the one towering above this intimidating man.
Wind whipped through. Gathering strength.
It was as if nitrogen and oxygen had come alive.
Every element in the dense air combustible.
Explosive.
Chills raced up my spine.
“I don’t know how to trust you.”
But God, I wanted to.
I wanted this boy as much as I wanted breath.
But more than that, I wanted love. The real kind. I wouldn’t settle for anything less.
His words were hoarse. “Let me prove it, Blue. Let me show you that every night, I want to be the one making love to you, and when you wake up in the morning, I want it to be me who has their arms wrapped around you.”
His tongue darted out. Nervous but sure. “And when you wear a ring on your finger, I want to be the one who put it there.”
Emotion swam in those eyes the color of pitch. Twilight and the sunrise. “And when you become a mother, I want you to be holding my child.”
I panted.
Overwhelmed by this man.
This time it was my turn to drop to my knees.
Floored.
Gone.
His.
He gathered my face in his hands. Thumbs brushed the tears from my cheeks. “I’m in love with you, Tamar Gibson. Do you hear me?”
I hear you.
I hear you.
“Be with me, Blue. Tell me you’re mine. Because I don’t think I can let you go. And there’s a good chance my son’s gonna be a part of my life. Because it was you who taught me what it’s like to be brave. That if I was gonna move on, I had to face my past. Share it with me, Blue. My past and my future.”
He buried his face in my hair, mouth at my ear. “Please…don’t tell me no.”
My voice was a rasp. “I couldn’t.”
With Lyrik, I never could.
He gasped out in relief, and he pressed a thick lock of my dark hair against his nose and laughed out this disbelieving sound. Breathed me in. Then he inched back so those unyielding eyes could take me in. The softest smirk lifted at one side of his mouth. But it lacked the threat. Warmed me through.
This intimidating, malicious man who was so utterly soft.
His words twisted with awe. “You’re so damned pretty.”
Then that mouth was on mine.
Kissing me in a way that was wholly profound.
Soft and deep.
Slow and hard.
With a promise he would never let me go.
The air crackled with energy.
Light lit up at the edges of my eyes.
Intense and alive.
With the force of a thunderbolt.
Where lightning strikes.
And I felt so small. Scared. Yet strong at the same time. Witnessing this beauty unseen. Touching on an experience I only thought I’d observe from afar.
Love.
It was blinding.
Powerful.
It turned out this boy was the perfect storm.
“Say it again,” I whispered at his mouth.
Lyrik pulled back. I watched the heavy bob of his throat. The heave of his chest. The severity in those pitch-black eyes.
“Blue, you sing my soul.”
YOU’D THINK WITH THE guitar playing and all, I’d be good at this.
Nimble fingers.
Quick hands.
Not so much.
A chuckle left me just under my breath, and I bit my bottom lip in concentration as I weaved the fat needle through the fabric. Creating a patchwork design. Every shade of pink. Ginghams and calicoes and solids.
So, yeah. Guys might call me a * considering I know the names of all those prints. But you know. My mom.
I gripped the needle between clumsy fingers, trying to keep it straight.
Brendon laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. “Dad…you’re doin’ it all wrong.”