I pull him closer. “I forgive you.” I nuzzle his cheek. “I know it’s all over TikTok, but how many people have listened to it?”
He grins. “I checked the numbers on the way here.” He hesitates for a moment. “Six million, so far.” He fidgets with the ID bracelet on my wrist. “The other thing, is, um…the LLC I set up?”
“BritPark,” I say. “I did notice that.”
“It’s in your name. Legally.” He holds my gaze. “All the proceeds are yours.”
I blink. “Wait, what?”
“Did you think I was going to publish this EP without telling you and keep the proceeds for myself?” He laughs. “I set up a private account in your name, and all the income the EP are yours and yours alone. Which, so far, is making you quite a tidy sum.”
“You’re for real?”
“You’re a top-charting musician, babe.”
I shake my head. “I’m still mad at you for doing it without me and not telling me. But I forgive you. And also, holy shit.”
He sighs. “I’m proud of it.”
“Me too.”
I’m in Dr. Miller’s office. For the first time in my life, it’s not Mom and/or Dad in the office with me. It’s Wes.
I still can’t get over the ring on my finger. When Grandma saw me wearing it for the first time, she started crying so hard I was honestly a little worried.
“Just happy, my dear,” she’d assured me, hugging me in a fiercely tight grip. “Just so happy.”
Now, Dr. Miller is scanning my file, and my latest scans—taken just this morning. His eyes are wet. “Jolene, sweetheart, I can’t tell you how stunned I am. Happy, overjoyed—but stunned. Of all the possible outcomes, this is the least expected, and the one I hoped for most.” He closes the file. Takes my hands in his big, hard, rough, old ones. “You’re officially, finally discharged, Jolene Park.”
I squeeze his hands back. “We’re not actually, legally married yet, but I’m going by Britton. Jolene Britton.”
He smiles at me, bright, and happy for me. “I can’t help but wonder at the coincidence that this happens right when you find this young man.”
I grin, wriggle happily like a squirmy puppy. “I know, right? I’ve had that thought myself.”
Dr. Miller pats my hand. “We’ll do yearly scans, of course, just to keep a wary eye out. But you, my dear, sweet, little warrior, are a free woman.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I love you, Dr. Miller, but I am so sick of this hospital.”
“I bet you are,” he says. Leaning back in his chair, he eyes us. “So, when you are two lovebirds gonna tie the knot?”
Wes answers for me. “As soon as possible. I have my manager working on it right now.”
I glance at him, then at Dr. Miller. “You have to come, Dr. Miller. You’ve been a key fixture in my life since I was a little girl. You’re almost like a second father to me.”
He smiles kindly. “More like grandfather, but I take your meaning.” A nod. “I’d be honored to attend your wedding, Jolene. Let my secretary know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
We say our goodbyes, and Wes and I leave the hospital together. I stop in the guest parking lot and turn around.
“I know I’ll be back for yearly check-ups,” I say, choked with emotion. “But…this feels like goodbye. And good riddance.” I hiccup. “You don’t even know how much time I’ve spent in that building.”
Wes holds me tight against his side. Says nothing. There’s nothing to be said.
I turn away and Wes helps me into the passenger seat. Buckles me, kisses me.
“I can’t wait to be home,” I whisper, holding his face in my hands. “Home, with you.”
He kisses me again. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
I giggle breathlessly. “You said Jen is planning the wedding already?”
He nods. “She’s saved some decisions for you. She’s got a designer ready to bring a truckload of dresses for you to try on.”
“All I care about is being your wife.”
“That’s the only thing you care about?”
I nod. Then, tip my head to the side with a sly grin. “Well, that and getting you alone.” I reach down and cup him over his jeans. “I’m so jumping your bones the moment we walk in that door.”
He bites my lower lip, a sharp, playful nip. “Not if I jump you first.”
I shake my head. “I may not make it home, Wes.” I let it all burn in my gaze. “A whole month, in that hospital, alone in the bed every night, missing you, needing you, barely getting to even kiss you very often.” My voice is husky. “I freaking need you, Wes.”
His eyes devour mine. “I know, my love.” He grins. “Your family wanted to have a party when we got home, but I managed to talk them out of it. I said you’d want some time home alone to unwind before a big party.” The grin widens. “Mainly, I just selfishly wanted time alone with you. If you’re feeling up to it.”
I dig my fingernails into his bicep. “Westley, you never have to ask that again. If I’m up to it.” I clutch him, feeling him respond to my touch. “The question is, are you up to it?”
“Let’s get home and find out, shall we?”
We find out.
Slowly.
Despite our feverish need for each other, by some unspoken understanding, we take it slow. We strip each other, piece by piece, until we’re naked and panting for each other. We stand at the foot of the bed, door closed, lights down. It’s evening, twilight turning to night beyond the windows. A foot separates us. His eyes rake over my body, flitting from my eyes to my breasts to my core, and back up.
“So, so beautiful,” he breathes.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage.
His hands clasp around my hips, pull me toward him. “I can’t wait anymore, Jo. I need you.”
I let him pull me closer, and he kisses me. His lips are hungry, his tongue eager. For a long moment, it’s merely our mouths fused, tongues writhing together, and then his hands press me backward to the bed. I fall, and I revel in the fact that I feel gloriously, unusually, incredibly well. Strong, and free.
It really is gone. Not just in remission, but gone.
His mouth touches my breast, and I gasp, back arching at the sting of electricity that sears through me. And then his fingers find my sex and I’m gasping, and his lips and tongue press against my clit and I’m screaming his name as he brings me to the edge of climax and sends me over it within seconds. I fly into paroxysms of ecstasy as he continues to love my sex with his mouth, again and again, as if to make me come once for every tear he shed, thinking he’d lose me.
I lose track of where I am or how many times he makes me come, each rolling wave of glorious bliss blending with the next until I’m a puddle of jellied woman on the bed, gasping breathless and shuddering and shaking.
I pull him up to me. “Love me, Wes.”
He climbs up my body. Presses himself between my thighs. I clutch him and nestle him where he belongs: inside me. His gaze on mine, with our love bursting between us, gratitude and amazement and a million other emotions with it, we join. He plunges into me, filling me inch by slow, stretching inch.