Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Hey,” he said against her mouth.
Her eyes ducked his, and her face grew tighter—and not in a good way.
“Hey,” he repeated as he stroked her wet hair back. “You turn me on, you know that?”
Lydia’s honey-colored stare came back to his own.
“It’s true.” He eased back a little and trolled his fingertips up the curve of her breast. “You make me hot. You make me glad to be a man. When I tell you I could do that to you forever, I mean it. Don’t let my body cause you to question a goddamn thing.”
She ran her hands up his shoulders. “I just wish we could… I mean, not for me. For you—”
He cut her off. “I know you do—”
“I wish I could do something. For you.”
After a moment, he said softly, “Actually, you can.”
Don’t say it, he warned himself. Don’t you fucking ruin this.
But if not now, when was he going to say this, he wondered. What if something went wrong with him?
Pillowing his head with his arm, he touched her face, and for some reason, the sound of the water hitting the marble shower grew loud, very loud.
As his chest got tight, she clearly became concerned.
“It’s nothing bad,” he whispered as he ran his thumb over her lower lip. “I just want you to remember me, after I’m gone.”
Her recoil was instantaneous and the sputtering immediate.
“No, wait, let me just say this. And then I won’t bring it up again.” He waited until she’d calmed a little. “I’m a selfish bastard, and I want you to remember me when the spring comes because we met in the spring. And when you go up on the mountain for work and you look at that bridge I built, think of me then, too, ’kay? The wolves you track? When you cross paths with the one whose life you saved with my help, who we released back into the wild together? Remember me when you look into his face.” Daniel exhaled slowly. “I don’t need to be all around you or in your mind all the time. I don’t want that—I want you to move on and find your way and live a new life that is different, but eventually happy. Just… don’t forget me, okay? That’s death to me. You not remembering me is death. You thinking of me from time to time? That’s… my forever.”
Ah, shit, he was making her cry. But he had to speak this, he needed to get this out.
“I want forever with you.” He touched her temple. “And it’s right up here. This is not meant to be a burden, I swear, and I don’t want to upset you. I just… oh, fucking hell, come here.”
Leave it to him to ruin everything, he thought as he pulled her into his scrawny chest with its new map of scars from operations, biopsies, and his PICC line.
“I’m sorry, just forget it,” he said against her ear. “I’m an asshole—”
She pulled back sharply. “No, don’t say that.” Her eyes bounced around his face. “Daniel, I promise you. I’m going to give you your forever. For as long as I live, you’ll be with me and it’s no burden. How could an amazing man like you be a burden? And yes, when the spring comes, on the first sunny day, I’ll go up to the mountain, and I’ll walk over the bridge you built. When the rays hit my face, I’ll remember your kisses, and when it falls on my shoulders, I’ll remember you holding me. Just send me a sign if you can, okay? I don’t know what I believe about the afterlife, but if I can give you forever in my mind, how about you give me a hint about heaven, or whatever you call it?”
Tears entered his eyes, hotter than the water falling on them both.
“It’s a deal.” He brought his arm back around and offered her his hand. “Let’s shake on it, my wolf. Isn’t that what people do?”
“Deal,” she said hoarsely.
As they shook and then melded their bodies, he realized that some goodbyes were over in an instant, and some were a gradual drift apart. Others… were lived and breathed through, a deliberate process of parting that was as much a part of the relationship as the beginning and the middle.
He and his woman were going to make theirs count.
They had no other choice.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THAT EVENING, C.P. went downstairs to dinner in sweatpants. No tight-fitting skirt or slacks. No fucking stilettos that were giving her a bunion. No curled and sprayed hair, or tasteful makeup, or diamond studs. She had thick socks in lieu of shoes, and she told herself she’d kept Gus’s fleece on just because she didn’t really have anything else to wear.
That was a lie.
She wanted him around her.
It was precisely the kind of sentimentality she’d sneered at over the course of her life—but who knew there was a place for that kind of sap? Then again, she was dying, and that sure as shit made you toss rules that didn’t work for you.