Stanton tilts back in the pleather recliner beside Sofia’s hospital bed. He picks a green grape from the bag on his lap and pops it into his mouth. “Nah, he just looks like a Samuel.”
“He looks like an alien.”
At Sofia’s frown, I amend that statement. “An adorable alien, but still, he’s got a head on him. How’d that feel coming out?”
Sofia smiles sweetly. “I hope you get kidney stones, so you can find out.”
Then we sit in companionable silence for a few moments. Until Sofia gently prods, “Have you talked to Kennedy?”
My heart squeezes until my whole body throbs. My anger bled out sometime last night. Now I just ache for her.
“No.”
Stanton pops in another grape. “Why not?”
“I’m still hoping she’ll come to her senses.”
“Do you love her?” Sofia turns to her husband with an open mouth. “Hit me.”
He effortlessly lands a grape in her mouth.
I brush my knuckle across Samuel’s perfect hand, imagining how it’d feel to hold a tiny newborn girl with blond hair. “Yes, I love her.”
“Then fucking fix it, man,” Stanton insists. “You had a fight; you said things you didn’t mean—welcome to Relationship Land. But you don’t break up over a fight. Not if you love her.”
Sofia talks as she chews. “He’s right. If we broke up every time we disagreed about something, Samuel’s home would’ve been broken a long time ago.”
Stanton nods.
Sofia’s voice is sincere with experience. “It’s scary, I know. Giving someone that kind of power over you—accepting that your happiness will forever hinge on theirs. But it’s worth it.” She reaches out and Stanton takes her hand, giving her a secret smile.
Words from two decades ago echo in my head and slip out of my mouth. “The ride is the only thing that makes the fall worth it.”
Sofia’s head tilts curiously and I shrug. “A smart, fearless girl told me that once.”
Stanton grins. “She sounds like a keeper.”
Damn straight she is.
• • •
In my head, I act out every sappy grand gesture teenage girls fantasize about. I stand outside her bedroom window with a boom box over my head. I run through the airport, catch her moments before she boards the plane, and profess my undying love. I completely redecorate my home office, put her desk right next to mine, to prove to her how much I want her in my life.
In reality—I don’t do any of those things.
Because this isn’t a movie—this is real life. And Kennedy and I are the realest thing I’ve ever known.
What she needs most from me isn’t over-the-top gestures or expensive gifts I could buy her without a second thought. She needs the words. And she needs to look into my eyes when I give them to her, so she can see that I mean every single one.
I nod to the federal agent stationed at the gate of her house. He lets me through and I march up the steps of her porch, knocking on her door. After what feels like forever and a day, it opens, and shiny eyes—one still swollen—stare up at me from her bruised, beautiful face.
A guilty blade thrusts up under my rib cage—because she’s still hurting. And I’ve made her hurt more.
The words rush from my lips.
“We’re not done. I didn’t—” My voice cracks. “I didn’t mean it.”
Her face softens in fucking sympathy—for me. And the blade plunges deeper, twisting cruelly.
“I know, Brent.”
I touch her cheek, because I can’t not touch her for a second longer. “I’m sorry.”
Her breath hitches. “Me too. I’m sorry I can’t make this easier for you.”
“No. I was an ass. You don’t have to make it easier for me—I don’t want you worrying about that. I love you, Kennedy.”
“I love you too.” She takes a deep breath—then her chin rises and her voice is stronger. “Don’t ask me not to go again. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“I won’t. The only thing I’ll ask is”—my head dips, moving closer—“let me come with you.”
Her face crumbles and she surges against me. I hold her as tight as I dare as her tears soak into my shirt, and she nods against my chest. “Yes. Please come with me.”
21
On the first day of a big trial, some lawyers want their sole focus to be on the case. They think about it while shoveling oatmeal into their mouths. They rehearse their opening statement while sipping their coffee, and tape their notes to the mirror while they shave and straighten their tie.
But not Kennedy. Because this morning, in our Nevada hotel room, her focus is wholly on my cock.
She’s on her knees in front of me where I stand by the bed, teasing the sensitive indentation on the underside of my hot, hard rod as she sucks me off. And it feels so fucking good I practically decapitate myself when my head rolls toward the ceiling. I dig my hand into her hair and fist it tight, holding her still, so I can pump into her mouth.
Goddamn.
It’s the roughest I’ve let myself be with her the last two weeks—and she loves it. She hums around me, sending ripples of decadent pleasure through every nerve in my body. My chin touches my chest as I look down, watching my dick slide smoothly between Kennedy’s rosy lips.
“That’s it. Take it just like that,” I rasp. ’Cause I’m feeling fucking dirty.
Her responding moan is almost my undoing. With a swiftness born of desperation, I lift her up, toss her onto the bed, and grab her ankles—dragging her to the edge. Then I bend my knees and drive into her.