Page 86 of Chasing Clouds

“Tell me more,” I encourage, running my hand across her thigh.

“In normal life, when someone dies, we grieve them and move on, but for me, every time I look in the mirror, I see her. I don’t see me. I feel like a living breathing memorial, and it’s really hard to differentiate between her and myself when we are one and the same. People mourned her to me. I became a living ghost of her, and I lost myself even more.

“Since before we were even born, we were a ‘we’ or ‘the girls.’ I was never just me, and when she died, it’s like I stopped breathing because life as I knew it was over. I had to learn to breathe on my own, and it was really hard, but thankfully I did have my grandfather, and I had Patrick.”

At the mention of his name, I involuntarily pull my hand away. She catches the movement and stops me. Retuning my hand to her leg, she holds it in place.

“Patrick helped me the most.” She frowns. “While others just assumed I was grieving, he knew what I was dealing with was on a whole different level. He took me to the doctor, found me a therapist, joined me at support groups for those who had lost a twin—he was really there for me when I needed someone. But, looking back, as grateful as I am for him, I feel like he was using me as a way to not deal with his own heartache. I gave him a purpose, a distraction.”

“I get that. It also helps me understand why you were so loyal to him.”

“He was my friend,” she says sadly. “I thought letting go of him would be like losing her all over again, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” They were all a package deal, a life together full of memories. Of course I can see how it would feel like losing her all over again. It’s like effectively closing the door on so much of her life.

“But surprisingly, it didn’t, and yesterday, when I walked away, I was just done. I didn’t feel bad at all. In fact, I felt relief.”

“I’m not going to lie, I don’t like that he was here.” I tilt my chin a little higher. “I’ll never tell you who you can and cannot be friends with, but I feel very strongly about him not being around you.”

She gives me an endearing smile and runs her hand from my waist up to the middle of my chest. I’m certain she can feel my heartbeat, and I hope she does. In so many ways, it beats just for her. “He’s not coming back. You don’t have to think about him ever again.”

“Good.”

“I meant it when I said I was going to fight for you. I may have had to work myself up to it, but I was almost there, and then yesterday, all the remaining puzzle pieces fell into place. Nothing was going to stop me from going to you.”

Hearing that she wasn’t giving up on us, on me—it’s a balm that soothes the part of me that’s been empty without her.

Leaning down, I touch my lips to hers, and from the inside out, my soul weeps in relief. Neither one of us moves, remaining still as the gravity of the moment settles around us, until she exhales. It’s long, slow, and filled with a relief so tangible I reach out and embrace it through her lips, her face, her hands, her body. She slides onto my lap, flattens herself against me, and although I hug her gently due to that damn collarbone, I hug her thoroughly so she knows she’s mine.

“I’m sorry, Reid, for everything,” she quietly says into the skin of my neck.

Wrapping my hands around her face, I move us so we’re nose to nose and she’s looking me in the eyes. “Don’t be. Don’t ever be sorry, because I would do it all over again if it meant bringing me here to you.”

Warm tears slip out of the corners of her eyes and roll across my fingers. I abhor that all of this has moved her to tears, but from now on, if anyone is going to be the one to dry them, it’s me.

“I’m sorry for how I behaved back in Tampa. I hate how I spoke to you.” I really do. Never again will I be so quick to judge; there’s always more to the story.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” She shakes her head lightly and her sweet breath washes over my face.

Inching forward, she closes the distance between us and kisses me with abandon. There’s a desperation to our movements that’s slow and hard, forgiving and freeing. I can’t get close enough.

Almost three months ago, she breathed life into a need I didn’t know I had, a simple spark that turned into a flame and spread like a wildfire, burning me up from the inside out. I welcome the heat, never want to temper it, and with her, I’m certain I never will. She’s the catalyst, the oxygen needed, and because of her, I’m transformed.

Reclining back, I grab the pullover behind my head and yank it off. My T-shirt comes with it and I drop both on the floor next to us. Her warm hands roam over me, drifting lightly over the bump of the break and then up into my hair.

“Your hair is so long.” She smiles, running her fingers through it, making it stand straight up.

“I know.” I chuckle. “Whereas yours is just as gorgeous as always.”

I run my hand over the back of her head, cradling it reverently. Her cheeks flush and she leans forward to place her forehead against mine.

“I missed you so much,” she whispers, her swollen lips just inches from mine.

“I missed you more.”

Starting at the top, I make my way down as I unfasten each button of her shirt. Sliding my hand back up between her breasts, I peel the fabric away, leaving her in beige lace. A pang of longing pulls the breath from me as I admire every inch of her skin—so pale, so smooth, and so perfect.

Leaning forward, I run my nose across the length of her shoulder, and goose bumps chase behind. Tangling one hand in her hair, I pull her bra strap down with the other and admire how her skin smells like peaches. If I didn’t have these injuries, there’s no doubt I’d tackle her to the floor, but as it is, I end up taking my time.