Eric chuckles. “Itiskind of perfect. It’s your song.”
“I’m in,” Rylee agrees.
I just shake my head, but I’m grinning so hard it hurts.
“Fine.Operation Collapse Into Yesit is.”
And just like that, it’s all set.
The plan. The people. The moment that’s going to change my life as I know it forever.
I just have to survive the next forty-eight hours without giving anything away.
God help me.
Please let her say yes.
I’ve been a complete disaster the last two days leading up to this night. If Mia doesn’t know something’s up by now, it’ll be incredible. The guys have even joked about sending me on a “business trip” just to keep me from spoiling the surprise.
Mia had her final post-op check-up this morning. Her new doctor here in LA gave her the all-clear—stitches out, incisions healed, ribs stable.
“She can resume more strenuous activity,” he’d said with a clinical nod.
I’d made damn sure to clarify whatallkinds of activity meant.
Mia had smacked my arm, cheeks pink, but the doctor just chuckled and told us to be careful. “But yes,” he added. “You're good to go.”
Good to go.
The words have been sending shivers down my spine.
Now she’s curled up on our bed—the one that used to just belong to me but now only feels like home when she’s in it—in her gray drawstring sweatpants and one of my old Catastrophically Charismatic t-shirts, her checkered Vans discarded by the door. She looks soft and cozy, and so fucking beautiful it almost physically hurts. There’s something about seeing her in my clothes that has always made me come undone—it proves she’s mine in a way I don’t need the whole world to see to believe. I can’t wait to put my ring on her finger so the whole world knows it, too, though.
The last six weeks have been torture.
Six weeks of watching her heal—slowly, stubbornly, achingly. Of shifting her pillows, lifting her gently out of the tub, coaxing her through moments of pain I couldn’t take away. Pain that I still feel likeIcaused.
Six weeks of seeing her bare, vulnerable, soaked in warm water and moonlight—and not touching her. At least, not the way I wanted to.
I’d run cold water in the shower after every bath I helped her with, jerking off behind a closed door like a goddamn teenager while the love of my life waited for her painkillers to kick in on the other side.
I cross the room, climbing into bed with her, and it doesn’t take long for my hands to find her hips and tug her close to me.I’d be lying if I said I didn’t position her ass perfectly against my dick, because I want her to know I’m here.
“If you’re not ready, we don’t have to do anything,” I murmur in her ear, even though it’s taking all the restraint I have to not rip her clothes off right here, right now.
She rolls over a little so she can look into my eyes and gives me a sleepy little smile that damn near knocks me out.
“I am ready,” she says softly. “I miss you.”
That’s all it takes.
I’ve missed her, too, more than anything—even though she’s been right here, we both know that’s not what she means.
I move closer to her to press a kiss to her forehead and each of her cheeks before finding her lips.
“I’ll be gentle, sweetheart,” I whisper as I lift her gently to remove her—my—shirt. “I’m not trying to almost lose you again. But fuck, Mia… I can’t wait to touch you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. About this.”
My breath catches a little as she’s now bare from the waist up, the shirt tossed aside. Her scars are healing. The largest one, about four or five inches long on the upper part of her stomach, is still a little pink—a reminder of a nightmare I may never fully forgive myself for.
