Cade lets out a low whistle. “No shit? The golden boy said no to the big apple?”
“Shut up, Cade,” Samuel murmurs, but his eyes are on me. “Why?”
I tell them everything. The trade offer. Zoey’s franchise deal with the relocation condition. The fight last night. The way Morgan’s face crumpled when she asked if I was leaving.
They listen, and when I finally finish, the silence stretches.
Then Gabe of all people, speaks first. “You’ve changed.”
I look at him. “What?”
“You've changed since the injury.” He shifts, his massive shoulders rolling like he still hasn't quite forgiven himself. “For the better. You stopped screwing around, you stayed the night with a woman. You looked after her kid. You flew her brothers out just so they could be together.” I swear to God, a smile touches his mouth. “You memorized her goddamn notebook, man.”
He nudges me with his fist, and I have to look away to take it all in.
“You didn’t do all that because you’renotin this for the long haul,” Gabe continues, his voice gruff but certain. “Youloveher, Colt. Youloveher kid. So what are you waiting for?”
All the air leaves my lungs.
I love her?
I love her.
Shit.He's right. But I’ve spent my whole life performing love. Saying the right things, making the gestures, charming parents and friends.
But I’ve neverfeltit.
I've neverlovedanyone before. Let alone been lovedbysomeone.
But Gabe’s right. That’s exactly what it is.
I love Zoey Morrison. I love her strength and her stubbornness and the way she fights for everyone but herself. I love the soft sounds she makes when she sleeps. I love the food in her hair and the fire in her eyes when she talks about her bakery.
And I love Morgan.ChristI love that kid.
I love her curiosity and her bluntness and the way she trusts me with her crayon drawings and her card tricks.
“Yeah,” I say, the word rough. “Shit… Ido. I do love her.”
Samuel claps a hand on my shoulder. “Then what are you still doing here?!”
Cade practically launches me off the seat like I'm a human catapult.
"Go get 'em, tiger," he says, giving me slap on the ass for good measure.
I race through the building and slide back into my SUV, making one stop on the way at a little framing shop at the top of Main Street. The old wooden door squeaks as I walk in, and an elderly woman with glasses on a chain looks up from her workbench.
“Can I help you?”
“I need this framed,” I say, pulling Morgan’s drawing from inside my jacket. “Today. Now, if possible.”
I bat my lashes and she takes it with an eyeroll.
“You're lucky this is so precious,” she says, getting to work. Her eyes soften as she studies the three stick figures, the big red heart, the careful, childish writing that was added last night:Me, Mom, and Buddy.
“Damn right I'm lucky.”
Thirty minutes and a truly absurd amount of money later, I walk out with the drawing sealed in a beautiful walnut frame. I stop at my apartment next, seeing it the cold, empty showroom I’ve barely lived in for what it really is now…nothing.