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“Tell me about it.” He kisses the top of my shoulder, and I melt into his firm chest. “I guess she knew her father better. We had that in common—her mother died when she was young.”
“I never knew that.” Tracing my finger along Deacon’s forearm, I can’t help thinking if what happened to me could possibly fuel his over-possessiveness now. “We all lost our mothers young.”
His arms tighten around me, and his voice has an edge. “We’re breaking that chain.”
Turning my head, I kiss him slow. I don’t want him worrying about me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“No, you’re not.”
Our eyes meet, and our love burns so strong.
“Tell me about my brother.”
“He’s alone in that big house.” Deacon exhales heavily. “I felt kind of bad for him.”
“You’re kidding.” I twist around to look at him again, and his eyebrows quirk.
“I did.”
“I hope you told him it’s his own damn fault.”
He pulls me into his embrace again, positioning me so his hands can slide over the baby. “I told him we should get together sometime for a drink. He suggested a party for the whole family at his place in March.”
My brow furrows. “March?”
“I suggested March—nine months from now.”
“Oh…” I shake my head. “I’ll probably need an extra month to be on my feet again.”
“We’ll change it to April.”
We’re quiet, looking out the arched windows, listening to the hum of insects in the night, the croak of frogs. I’m thinking about being here, in my favorite place with him. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
“You fixed it.”
“Hm?” Sleepiness has entered his tone. “What’s that?”
“You said you’d fix it. I said some things couldn’t be fixed. But you said they could, and you did.”
His face moves into my hair, and he inhales deeply. “We fixed it. We all gave a little.”
“But you gave the most.”
“And I got the most in return.”
Reaching over my shoulder, I cup his cheek, holding our faces together as I close my eyes.
Once I thought being in Deacon’s arms was like diving off a cliff into a pool of wonder and happiness. Now I realize those were little girl fantasies, and while they’re still true, it’s so much more than that.
Being in Deacon’s arms means being supported by a partner who will fight for me, who will hold my hand when I have to fight, who will wait for me when I need some space, and who won’t give up until I’ve slain my monsters.
Together, our love is healing. Our love is creative and pure. Our kisses are reckless, but they’re not irresponsible. We’re wild and free, like the horse in my painting. Our spirit is groundbreaking and revolutionary, brave enough to heal the wounds of the past and forge a future of unity.
My hand is over his on my belly as I drift to sleep with these visions in my mind, as I plan my next painting, as I take my next step into a new world.
The peaks of the Sierra Madre are tipped in golden light, and a mist surrounds the mountain tops. I slipped out of bed at the break of dawn with my camera to capt
ure the light streaking the ripples of mountains, the gleaming off the sunrise on the colorful houses dotting the foothills.
