infiltrated my thoughts.
“I’ve never made love to my fiancée before,” I say in response.
Her hands slowly slide down my neck and shirt until her
fingers meet the button on my jeans.
“Well, I think we need to rectify that,” she says, ending her
sentence with a kiss.
When her mouth meets mine again, it’s as if every last piece of
my armor disintegrates and every last piece of ice surrounding
the glacier that was my heart melts and evaporates.
Whoever coined the phrase, I love you to death obviously never
experienced the kind of love Tate and I share.
If that were the case, the phrase would be I love you to life.
Because that’s exactly what Tate did.
She loved me back to life.
The
end.
EPILOGUE
I think back to the day I married her.
It was one of the best days of my life.
I remember standing next to Ian and Corbin at the end of the
aisle. We were waiting for her to walk through the doors when
Corbin leaned over and whispered something to me.
He said, “You’re the only one who could have ever met my
standards for her, Miles. I’m happy it’s you.”
I was happy it was me, too.
That was more than two years ago, and every day since then,
I’ve somehow fallen in love with her a little bit more.
Or flew, rather.
I didn’t cry the day I married her, though.
Her tears were
falling
falling
falling
that day,
but mine weren’t.
I was convinced they never would.
Not in the way I wished they could.
It was eight months ago when we found out we were having a
baby.
We weren’t trying to have a baby, but we also weren’t not
trying.
“If it happens it happens,” Tate said.
It happened.
When we found out, we were both excited.
She cried.
Her tears were
falling
falling
falling,
but mine weren’t.
As excited as I was, I was also scared.
I was scared of the fear that comes along with loving someone
that much.
Scared of everything bad that could happen.
I was scared that my memories would take away from the day I
became a father again.
Well, it just happened.
And I’m still scared.
Terrified.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor says.
A girl.
We just had a baby girl.
I just became a father again.
Tate just became a mother.
Feel something, Miles.
Tate looks up at me.
I know she can see the fear in my eyes. I also know how much
pain she’s in right now, but she still somehow manages a
smile.
“Sam,” she whispers, saying her name out loud for the first
time. Tate insisted we name her Sam in honor of Cap’s real
name, Samuel.
I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The nurse walks over to Tate and lays Sam in her arms.
Tate begins to cry.
My eyes are still dry.
I’m still too scared to look away from Tate and down at our
daughter.
I’m not afraid of what I’ll feel when I look at her.
I’m afraid of what I won’t feel.
I’m terrified my past experiences have ruined any ability I have
to feel what every father should feel in this moment.
“Come here,” Tate says, wanting me closer.
I sit down next to them on the bed.
She hands Sam to me, and my hands are shaking, but I take her
anyway.
I close my eyes and release a slow breath before finding the
courage to open them again.
I feel Tate’s hand fall gently to my arm.
“She’s beautiful, Miles,” she whispers. “Look at her.”
I open my eyes and inhale sharply when I see her.
She looks just like he did, except that she has Tate’s brown
hair.
Her eyes are blue.
She has my eyes.
I
feel
it.
It’s all there.
Everything I felt the first time I held him in my arms is every
single thing I’m feeling now as I look down at her.
Believing that I lacked the ability to love someone in this
capacity again was the only fear I had left to conquer.
One look at Sam, and she just helped me conquer that fear.
She’s already my hero, and she’s only two minutes old.
“She’s so beautiful, Tate,” I whisper. “So beautiful.”
My voice cracks.
My face is covered in tears.
Falling
Falling
Falling.
For the first time since the moment I held Clayton in my arms,
I’m crying tears of joy.
Rachel was right. The pain will always be there.
So will the fear.
But the pain and fear are no longer my life. They’re only
moments.
Moments that are constantly overshadowed with every minute
I spend with Tate.
And now with every minute I spend with Sam.
Me and Tate and Sam.
My family.
I kiss her on the forehead, and then I lean over and kiss Tate
for giving me something this beautiful again.
Tate lays her head on my arm, and we both watch her.
Our daughter.
I love you so much, Sam.
I’m looking down at the perfection we created when it hits me.
It’s all worth it.
It’s the beautiful moments like these that make up for the ugly
love.
If you loved Ugly Love,
read on for a sneak peek of
Colleen Hoover’s
HOPELESS
Available in both paperback and eBook
Sunday, October 28, 2012
7:29 p.m.
I stand up and look down at the bed, holding my breath in fear of the sounds that are escalating from deep within my throat.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
Slowly sinking to my knees, I place my hands on the edge of the bed and run my fingers over the yellow stars poured across the deep blue background of the comforter. I stare at the stars until they begin to blur from the tears that are clouding my vision.
I squeeze my eyes shut and bury my head into the bed, grabbing fistfuls of the blanket. My shoulders begin to shake as the sobs I’ve been trying to contain violently break out of me. With one swift movement, I stand up, scream, and rip the blanket off the bed, throwing it across the room.
I ball my fists and frantically look around for something else to throw. I grab the pillows off the bed and chuck them at the reflection in the mirror of the girl I no longer know. I watch as the girl in the mirror stares back at me, sobbing pathetically. The weakness in her tears infuriates me. We begin to run toward each other until our fists collide against the glass, smashing the mirror. I watch as she falls into a million shiny pieces onto the carpet.
I grip the edges of the dresser and push it sideways, letting out another scream that has been pent up for way too long. When the dresser comes to rest on its back, I rip open the drawers and throw the contents across the room, spinning and throwing and kicking at everything in my path. I grab at the sheer blue curtain panels and yank them until the rod snaps and the curtains fall around me. I reach over to the boxes piled high in the corner, and without even knowing what’s inside, I take the top one and throw it against the wall with as much force as my five-foot, three-inch frame can muster.