He comes with a low, guttural sound, hips slamming forward one last time, pulsing hard. We stay like that—panting, water streaming over us—until the aftershocks fade.
He eases out carefully and disposes of the condom. Then he turns me around and pulls me into his chest under thespray. We just stand there, holding each other, letting the water rinse everything away.
Eventually, he shuts off the shower and dries me slowly. I do the same for him. Once we’re both wrapped in plush hotel robes, he lifts me onto the counter, steps between my legs, and kisses me soft and slow.
“Bed?” he asks against my lips.
“Bed,” I agree.
We don’t make it far. Halfway there, he scoops me up, carries me the rest of the way, and drops me onto the mattress with a grin that promises we’re nowhere near finished.
The night is still young, and we have a lot of time to make up for before morning.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THIS TIME
TULLY
The room is dim, with only the streetlight slicing through the half-open curtains. Lola’s head rests on my chest, her hair spilling across my skin. Our legs are wrapped around each other, sheets low around our waists. We’ve been like this for hours—talking and touching in lazy circles. Every time I think we’re drifting toward sleep, one of us says something, and we start again.
I trace the line of her spine with my fingertips. “Tell me about Patrick.”
She tenses for a second, then exhales against my collarbone. “You really want to do this now?”
“I want to know how he won you over.”
There’s a long pause. Her fingers stop dragging over my abs.
“He was overwhelming at first,” she says quietly. “Flowers every day. Late-night calls just to say he couldn’t stop thinking about me. I put him off for a long time, but he made it impossible to ignore him. He said no one had everunderstood him the way I did. And eventually, he made me feel like he saw me too. Like maybe he understood my brand of broken.”
My jaw tightens. I keep stroking her back, slow and steady, so she doesn’t stop.
“Then it flipped,” she continues. “Little comments. My laugh was too loud. My stories didn’t hold his attention. He wanted me to dress differently. He’d say it with this soft smile, like he was trying to be helpful instead of condescending. Isla came to visit and asked when I’d started apologizing for everything. And I realized I was—I’d bump into the wall and apologize. But I’d already been a mess when we met, so I think he just saw the buttons that were there and pushed them. Deep down, I think he’s insecure, so it makes him feel bigger to put others down.”
My hand stills on her back. Heat climbs my throat. “He tried to make you feel small?”
“Every day, eventually. It was subtle enough that I thought I was being sensitive, and that, in his way, he was being loving. But it chipped away. By the end, I didn’t recognize myself, but when I tried to break up with him, he vowed to do better, begged me to stay…to give him another chance. He wore me down again. I agreed to go away with him for the weekend to see if we could make it work. And that’s when I saw you in Windy Harbor.”
I swallow hard. The urge to find him and put my fist through his nose is so strong, my fingers curl into the sheet. “He had no right to make you feel that way. None. You’re—” I stop, searching for a word that won’t sound like empty flattery. “You’re fucking radiant, Lola. You always have been. He didn’t deserve a second of your light, let alone the chance to dim it.”
She lifts her head, eyes searching mine in the low light. “He’s not your favorite person.”
“No, he’s not, but even if he were, I’d be fucking raging at him right now. I’m angry that anyone could look at you and decide you needed to be smaller.”
A small, sad smile curves her mouth. “It’s embarrassing that I ever stayed…really, that I fell for any of his charm to begin with. He had believable moments, and I was weak.”
I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “I’m glad you’re here. Right now. With me.”
Her gaze softens. “Me too.”
I kiss her then—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. I’ve missed her so much it feels like a bruise that never healed. She shifts and slides my condom on before lowering herself onto me. Everything narrows to the heat of her skin, the way she moves like she’s claiming something she’s been denied too long.
This time it’s different. The other times were like we were racing the sunrise. This time we’re slower, more deliberate. Every touch feels like a conversation. She rocks against me, eyes locked on mine, and I can see everything she’s not saying—the years, the hurt, the want that never quite died. I grip her hips, match her rhythm, and whisper her name.
“You’ve haunted my dreams all this time,” I tell her.
Her mouth parts, and when she comes, it’s quiet, shuddering, her forehead pressed to mine. I follow right after—harder than ever.