“I’m not gonna stop fighting for this.” I clasp her hand in mine. “Please don’t ask me to sit back and do nothing.”
She plants one firm peck on my lips. “Even if you were capable of doing nothing, which you’re not”—her chin dips in chastisement, eyes blinking—“that’s not what I’m asking.”
Silence stretches, her eyes fill with tears. They roll down her cheeks and I swipe them away, one after the other. “Hannah.”
“I believe you’ll find a way back to me, Rowan. But please,pleasedon’t rush it. Be present. Cherish every second you have with her. She needs you, and if you have one foot out the door, I’ll never forgive myself if something were to happ?—”
A violent sob breaks through her words, and I pull her against my chest. “Breathe, baby.”
I hold her through her cries, running my hand over her back until her lungs find a steadyrhythm.
Then we’re kissing. Frantic and aching, our mouths collide like it’s the first and last time. She pushes up on her toes, curls her arms around my neck. My hat is thrown to the ground as she tunnels rough fingers through my hair.
We channel every bit of frustration into the way we devour each other. And love—so much love it’s maddening. With our lips, our tongues, our hands, we take what the world won’t let us have without a single regret.
I pick her up by her thighs and set her on the edge of the small entry table. She palms me through my jeans, and I groan. My mouth claims hers again while I reach behind me and turn the deadbolt on the front door on impulse.
“One more time,” she breathes. My pants are undone and she’s freed me from my boxers a second later.
The hem of my sweatshirt nearly covers her shorts. I find the waistband, yanking them off along with her panties in one hurried tug.
We’re panting, racing to feel each other, but the moment I’m back inside her, time slows down. A chorus of sighs and groans escape us both when I push all the way in and hold there. Her eyes tether mine, diving deep for long seconds. Our last opportunity to commit the feel ofhometo memory.
I pull out slowly, thrust back in even slower. Her mouth falls open on a whimper. I thrust in once, twice more, whisper a nearly silent“I love you”along the column of her throat.
Glimpses of the bride I met five years ago flash in my mind when our gazes find each other again. Long honeycomb hair in the breeze, show-stopping white gown. Except this time there are no mustard stains, no ripped seams, no other man. This time, it’s us—her and me—andmyring on her finger.
I’m gonna marry this girl.
“Again,” she moans, nails crooked in the neck of my shirt.
The table beats against the wall while I pump into her at her demand. It doesn’t take long—we’re both too desperate and too in sync.
I pick up speed to match the manic thump in my chest, her hips pushing to keep pace. All of her clenches around me at once—her thighs, her core, her heart—and we come on a quiet cry a moment later.
Still riding out her climax, Hannah stills me with a sorrow-filled kiss. Tears mar her lips. I take every single one as the gift they are—unconfined, undiluted love spilling over. And I’m not sure she means to give them voice, but when she says the words, so soft they’re but a breath on the final second of her release, my soul shatters and puts itself back together at the same time.
I’m gonna love her for the rest of my life.
Silently, I help her back into her shorts, right myself in my jeans and put on my hat. My phone buzzes with a text from Dubs reminding me he has to be at the airport in half an hour. Followed up with another a second later…
Dubs
I swear to god, if you smell like sex when you get in this car…
Hannah chuckles when I show her the screen. “That’s your cue.”
I take her face in my hands. “Promise me something, Hannah.” Her throat bobs. “Don’t stop fighting. For us or for yourself. You’re so capable and this”—I place a hand over her heart—“is perfect. And this”—I tap her temple—“is stronger than you realize. And this”—I tuck her hand in mine—“isn’t over.” She nods, the greens of her eyes muted behind a wall of unshed tears. “And if things get dark, feel everything you need to feel, talk to somebody about it. Don’t stop fighting. Do you hear me?”
My best friend honks the horn from the driveway, but I ignore it.
“Baby, look at me.” One deep breath, her gaze lifts. “You. Are not. Broken. Promise me.”
Her mom’s cancer won’t break her. Daniel won’t break her. Hannah James is unbreakable.
She bobs her head once and I shake mine. “No. Say it. Not for me, for yourself. Say the words.”
A ragged breath. “I promise.”