Defeated for the second time tonight, I turn in his arms and pull him to me before we slide down the side of my car. He’s still wrapped around me, and I lay drenched in his confessions, my mind reeling. “You just said them, Lance. You just said them.”
I pull him tighter to me, and he clings to me for life where I am his anchor, his face buried in my neck, his own body shaking with release.
“I’m so fucking tired,” he croaks, breaking me further along with him as I try to steady myself. He’s hitting rock bottom, and I’m relieved it’s happening. It was always going to happen. It was just a matter of when.
“I’m spiraling,” he whispers hoarsely, “And I can’t seem to come out of it. I’m so sorry. Please don’t stop loving me back.”
“I’m so mad at you,” I sob, thrusting my fingers in his hair and tugging at it until bloodshot eyes meet mine. We’re both hemorrhaging, the pain of the past eating us alive, our need for the other undeniable. And I won’t. I refuse to deny that a large part of my happiness is in his hands. And I gave it all to him. All of it, because he is worthy, even if he isn’t acting like it.
Nothing else matters but putting our pieces back together. Not my hurt tonight or those of the past.
He lashed out in anger, and I felt it. But I fell for a man with a horrible temper, and I knew someday I’d have to face his demons with him.
It stung worse than anything I’ve ever felt. But the hardest part of a fight is staying when it’s over, no matter the outcome. The sweep up of the aftermath, and then finding the will to fight again. He is my will, and I am his. This is where I show up if I want to prove it. I run my fingers through the dark locks on his forehead.
“I’m so fucking tired, baby. I’m so…tired.”
“It’s okay, Lance. Breathe. Just breathe.”
“I can’t fight anymore.”
“Then tonight you put the gloves down,” I say, covering him in my touch. “Tonight, all you have to be is Lance.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Not Tony’s fighter, and not Jack’s son. Lance. That’s who I came for. That’s all you’ll ever have to be for me.”
The guttural sounds coming from him tear me apart. “Breathe, baby.” I run my hands along his back, up his neck, tracing his beard and stroking his hair before I speak.
“When I was fifteen, this is just months after that crap went down, I was still struggling to get through every day as if nothing had happened. I had this dance instructor, Ms. Fennan, who was a saint compared to most others. She didn’t drill us as hard, but it didn’t matter, I was pushing harder than I ever had,” his breath hitches as I continue to stroke his hair in a long sweep, “I was struggling because I was trying to do too much to make up for what happened. When she realized how hard I was pushing myself, she put a stop to it. She took the time to slow me down.”
I lean down and press a kiss to his temple, and he grips me tighter. “She told me, ‘Harper, you aren’t going to get everywhere at once. You need to stop living for the what ifs and start living in the what is, one breath, one step at a time.’ And that stuck with me. It changed me. It slowed me. And in a way it saved me. If it hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met the version of me that you did.” I continue to soothe him with my hands, my fingers, as he molds us together. “I would have been a distorted version of me, and no doubt a lot less healthy. She saved me that day, I think. And I’ve lost sight of that again recently. But that’s all over,” I stroke his arms tracing his hands. “But it’s a good plan, Lance. So that’s how we’re going to do this. We, both of us, together, are going to stop living for the what ifs and start living for the what is, one breath and one step at a time. That’s how we’re going to do this.”
Slowly he raises his head, lifting his eyes to mine, the look in them something resembling hope. “So, marry me, Lance, grow old and laugh with me and don’t ever, ever, hurt me like that again.”
Relief covers him as another of his tears fall and another, and my heart breaks at the sight of each one.
“I fucking love you,” he croaks, “so much.”
“It’s a good thing you made that clear back in New York.”
“Harper,” he cups my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. I feel so much love in his grip as he searches my eyes, “Don’t believe them. Please don’t believe them. They’re fucking blind.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe them, not anymore. That’s why I’m here. Because I believe you.”
He leans in and takes my lips in a kiss that says it all.
Mine.
I am his. I’ll always be his. Since the day I met him, he boxed his way into my heart, my champion, my fighter, my nemesis, my undoing, my everything.
“I love you,” he murmurs again, and again, pressing gentle kisses to my mouth as he opens himself fully and lets me back in. Heart stuttering, I cling to him, knowing that from this moment forward, all my steps will always lead back to him. This isn’t commitment. This is forever.
His kiss goes from sweet to feverish before he dips to suck the skin at my throat. I’m on fire when he lifts me into his arms. It’s freezing, and his cold nose nudges mine as he dips to kiss me again. I return his fevered kiss, heart alight, future both mapped and unpaved. I’ll do anything to keep his love and have him this way.
He walks me toward his truck, his lips descending over and over with his kisses. “Where are we going?
He sets me on my feet and hands me his keys. “Away. Get in the truck, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” Instead of leaving me, he presses me against his truck door and kisses me again, the sweep of his tongue lifting me until I’m floating above ground. When he pulls away, he whispers, “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“You’ll get no argument there. Then again, don’t talk about my man that way.”
“Yours,” he pledges earnestly. “I swear to you.”
He makes quick work of going inside the house and comes back with an armful of blankets and two water bottles.
“Where are we going?”
“Just drive out to pasture.”
“K,” I kill the headlights and circle the house, and he grips my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing it feverishly while repeating, “I’m so sorry.”
The instant I park, I’m in his arms, his mouth crushing mine in a kiss that sweeps me back into a time where things were a lot less complicated. Every thrust of his tongue a beckoning to remember, and I do. I answer because when hard times happen in the future, it will be moments like this that keep us together. The truth is, there’s rarely a right time for everything at once, and very few moments in life where you get a cue to take important leaps. This is what I’ve learned loving Lance Prescott.
He kisses me for endless minutes, our hearts syncing as the hurt slowly dissipates, he strokes my scar with his thumb, cradling my head while he possesses my mouth. And then he’s touching me, my limbs growing heavy as he strokes me with calloused hands, the lust in his voice causing goosebumps to erupt over my skin. He lays me on the seat, lifting my sweater and caressing the swell of my breasts with his palm.