“Nothing worked out like I planned,” I whisper. A tear slips down my face. “Nothing’s the way I wanted.”
I could add more to that.Because I messed up. Because I miss Silverwood. Because I don’t have you.
His strong throat works. “It’s not too late, Bell. For anything. For everything.”
Suddenly, I feel very sober. I stare at Hank. He lingers in my space, handsome and earnest as the day I met him. My pulse speeds up. The smell of whiskey on his breath. The plaid of his flannel shirt, green and brown and tan.His golden-brown hair and the way it catches the light of the fire.
It’s hard to steady my heartbeat, to quiet the way it thumps with a reminder.My Cowboy. My Hank.
With a trembling exhale, I press a hand to my mouth. “I drank too much.”
“No, you didn’t, but it’s okay. C’mere.” He moves in, bringing his whiskered cheek to mine, his hands slipping around my shoulders to pull me in for a bear crush of a hug. His weight, his calm cause my stomach to swoop in a delicious way.
“I like your hugs.” I smile into his chest.
“I like givin’ you hugs.”
I slip my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin, the way his abs contract, that sharp suck of breath before he breathes easy, steadily. Then he’s pulling back, but not away. His mouth finds mine and I’m kissing him, kissing him because I want to, kissing him because I have no choice.
Every minute we’re together, he breaks off another piece of me. Our past has never felt closer. All the reasons we grew distant and selfish are overtaken by the million little reasons we fell in love.
“Bell.” Chest heaving, Hank pulls back, a hunger darkening his eyes.
My breath staggers. He’s looking at me like he wants me back, like I am still his, and he is still mine. Like what we used to have is still there.
I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as Hank Blue on the edge of losing it.
“Yes, yes.” I nod and gulp and lunge for his lips.
My hands rake through his messy hair, and he responds with a pleased sound in the back of his throat. He breaks the kiss, urging my arms up and stripping me of my sweatshirt. Urging me down on the couch, climbing on top of me. We tangle together, a sync of heartbeats and hands. A rhythm we memorized as we fell in love, a rhythm we still have.
For tonight, at least.
DECEMBER 23RD
The low growl of electricity carries on the air, and the world starts back up again. Still drowsy with sleep, I lift my head. When I discover the warm, hard body curled around me, I sigh.
Once again, I’m waking up with Hank.
A four-letter word that means bad decisions.
Once we started last night, we couldn’t stop. We started on the couch. We ended up in the shower and then the bed. I’m surprised I can still feel my legs.
One thing’s for certain: I really need to stop sleeping with my ex-husband.
And yet I nuzzle closer, kissing the curve of his broad shoulder, the constellation of freckles there. He lies on his stomach, his head turned, arms curled beneath the pillows. A shock of golden-brown hair falls over his brow.
The man’s too attractive for his own damn good.
This feels too right formyown damn good.
Waking up, limbs tangled. Weekends spent together. A partner who really understood me. That was Hank.
The thought hollows me out. Hurts my heart.
Could we get that back if we tried? Do we want to? Doeshewant to?
A war rages inside me. I want Hank. Yet do I deserve him?
