Page 165 of The Wild Card

“Crew?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you mean it? What you said?”

“Which part?”

“The love part.”

I tilt her chin up so she’s looking at me. “I meant it. I’ve meant it for a while. I just didn’t know how to say it. Probably shouldn’t have blurted it out. Definitely should have been more romantic. Sorry, I know I don’t deserve you.”

Her expression softens. “You deserve me, Crew Jensen. You deserve good things. You deserve to be happy.” She kisses me softly. “And I’m going to spend however long it takes convincing you of that.”

“However long?”

“However long.” She snuggles back into my chest. “Now rest up. You promised me a round two, and I intend to collect.”

I smile into the darkness, my arms wrapped around the woman I love, and for the first time in thirty years, I don’t feel broken.

I feel whole.

Chapter Forty

Sunday Dinner

Crew

“You’re nervous,” Emmie observes as we sit in the driveway of the Marshall house, neither of us moving to get out of the truck.

“I’m not nervous.”

“Your hands are doing the thing.”

I look down. She’s right. I’m tapping my fingers against my thigh in groups of four. I force myself to stop.

“They already like you,” she reminds me. “They liked you before. This is just… a continuation.”

“We broke up. And now we’re back together. They’re going to have questions.”

“My mom’s going to have questions. My dad will grunt approvingly and offer you a beer. Gavin will glare at you for approximately fifteen minutes and then get over it.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know my family.” She leans over and kisses my cheek. “Now come on. If we sit out here any longer, my mom’s going to come outside, and that’ll be worse.”

We walk up the path to the front door, and before Emmie can even reach for the handle, it flies open.

“They’re here!” Linda Marshall stands in the doorway, arms already outstretched. “Robert! Gavin! They’re here!”

She pulls Emmie into a hug first, then turns to me with an expression of pure delight.

“Crew.” She says my name like it’s a gift. “Get in here. You look thin. Have you been eating? Emmie, have you been feeding this man?”

“He eats plenty, Mom.”

“He looks thin.” Linda ushers us inside, one hand on my back like she’s worried I might escape. “I made extra mashed potatoes. And two pies. Robert said two pies were excessive, but I said, ‘Robert, our daughter is bringing her boyfriend back, and I will make as many pies as I want.’”

“You didn’t have to—”