I curse myself for not calling her earlier seeing as I have no idea where she is.
What if she left for India already?
The thought is like an arrow straight to the heart.
I force myself to take deep breaths, suppressing the panic swirling within me. It’s more likely that she’s out or visiting the Moore house. With one last look at her apartment, exhaustion settles into my bones. My emotions have taken a toll on me and I feel physically spent. The loss on ice topped with the inability to reach the woman I love excoriates wounds I don’t know how to heal.
Throughout the drive home, my mind is mired in thoughts of how to get Alia back. By the time I park on my driveway, I’m both drained and contemplating my options in case I need to follow her across the world to win her over.
I heave my bag out of the trunk, grabbing the roses so I can throw them in a bucket of water. I’m so wrapped up in making plans, I almost miss the huddled form on the porch outside my front door.
“Tots?”
Her head whips up, brown eyes catching the exterior lights that had turned on at sunset.
She scrambles to stand up, swiping her hair out of her face. There’s dirt on her leggings from where she was sitting on the ground. I scan her face, noting the slightly wan pallor of her skin. Without makeup, messy hair in a bun, dressed in her preferred leggings, an oversized sweater, and her Toms, she looks beautiful. Stressed, but beautiful.
Every muscle in my body relaxes at the sight. She’s here. She’sactuallyhere.
“Hi,” she whispers with an awkward wave that makes my heart clench. God, Iloveher.
“Hi,” I reply, my voice thick and raspy. I step toward her and she does the same. My heart pumps furiously, excitement, hope and elation driving blood to every listless organ. That exhaustion I was battling before? Gone. Turns out, all I needed was one look at Alia to feel alive again.
“I’m sorry I showed up without asking. I. . . I already knew your schedule and I watched the game. Figured you might want. . . I don’t know.” She notices the bouquet I’m still holding. “Why do you have flowers?”
“I went to see you. No one was at the apartment.”
“Irsia’s away for a shoot. And I. . . well. . . I’ve been here.”
“I called you.”
I watch, mild disbelief still lingering while Alia pulls her phone out. Her brows knot momentarily before she answers me.
“It’s dead. I didn’t realize,” she admits, sheepishly gesturing to the device in her hand. I’m still processing her presence. All I can do is keep staring, too afraid of blinking in case I’m having an incredibly realistic fever dream.
She fidgets with her crossbody bag, nibbling at her bottom lip. “I know we left things unresolved,” she says, tired of waiting for me to open my mouth. “The thought of you coming back to an empty house didn’t sit well with me. But I didn’t want to intrude so I stayed out here instead of going inside. If you don’t want me here, I can lea—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence. My bag drops from my hand and before it hits the ground, I close the distance between us and sweep her into my embrace. She hangs onto me, arms sliding around my shoulders as I hide my face in her neck. Finally, I can breathe.
“Do you want to talk about the game?” she asks, drawing her open palmup to cup my neck.
I shake my head, nuzzling harder into her. I don’t ever want to let her go. I don’t even want to move. This, right here, with her in my arms? I’m happy to stand like this all night long.
“Are you tired?”
I hum.
“I can come back after you’ve rested.”
“Stay,” I mumble, squeezing her gently once again before straightening. “Stay with me.”
Her expression grows shy. With the tiniest smile, she nods. I don’t bother releasing her hand as we make our way inside. I turn to look at her every few seconds as I lead her up to my bedroom. If I’m being too clingy, Alia doesn’t comment.
“Do you mind if I use your shower?” she asks, gesturing to her pants. “I’d like to get cleaned up before sleeping.”
“Of course,” I reply, pointing toward the attached master suite and the closet nearby. “Pick whatever you like from the closet. I’ll grab you some fresh towels and a toothbrush.”
I get Alia situated with everything she needs and shoot out of the bathroom before I drop to my knees and beg her to let me join her in the shower. I’m pulling on a clean t-shirt and shorts when I hear the muted rush of water slapping against glass. Images of a wet and soapy Alia fill my thirsty brain.