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The thought of losing Sophie kills me, but right now, losing her isn’t an option. She hasn’t truly left me. She’s just confused about what she needs. She’s still so broken, but she should be leaning on me instead of trying to push me away. I know for damn sure I need her. She’s the love of my life, and I’ll be damned if I let her get away. Not now, not ever.
There are about thirty minutes left until the flight, and my ass is starting to cramp on these damn chairs. It’s well past the middle of the night, but I don’t care. I’m going to get to her tonight, even if it kills me.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out to see her father’s name on the caller ID.
“Robert,” I say as I answer the phone.
“Hi, son. Just thought you should know she’s here. She’s safe,” he tells me.
“I know,” I say. “I’m on my way.”
“I know you are. She’s a stubborn fool like her old man, but she needs you,” he says, a broken tone in his voice, hating to see his baby girl hurting like this. Fuck, I hate it too. I’d give anything to take away her pain. “I’ll leave the key under the mat.”
“Thank you,” I say and with that, he cuts the line.
I let out a breath of relief. I knew she was there, but to hear it confirmed and to hear that she’s safe is just what I needed. Especially after what she’s been through. I have to admit, the thought of her being taken by Christian Baxter is always popping into my head, and it drives me insane knowing it’s a very real possibility. Just that knowledge alone makes me want to be by her side twenty-four-seven.
A few hours later, the plane touches down in Denver, and I rush out of the airport, eager to get to Sophie.
Not wanting to wait for an Uber, I jump straight into the back of a taxi and tell the driver to step on it. Within twenty minutes, the taxi pulls up at Sophie’s childhood home, and I soon find myself digging under the mat, using the flashlight on my phone, desperately searching for the damn key.
I get inside and silence the need to find her and get straight into our issues. It’s nearly sunrise, and I’m fucking exhausted. I make my way up to Sophie’s room and find her curled in a ball on the bed, wearing one of my old shirts. I’m furious at her for wanting to take the easy way out, but at the same time, I’m so deeply in love with her that I can simply let it go—at least for tonight.
As I make my way to the bed, I strip off my jeans and shirt, letting them clatter to the floor before climbing in beside her. I instantly reach out for her, desperate to have her in my arms. I hold her against me, the way we used to before Baxter stole all we held precious.
As soon as I have her back up against my chest, she lets out a deep, satisfied sigh, which answers one of my million questions. She didn’t want to leave. She still loves me, and she needs me just as much as I need her.
With my woman safely in my arms, I finally fall into a deep sleep.
I wake to the feel of my wife’s nails running through my hair, down the side of my face, and into the coarse hairs of my stubbled jaw. My eyes open slowly as I take her in. She lays right by my side with her eyes trained on my jawline, looking as beautiful as the day I met her.
With my arms still wrapped around her, I pull her in tighter, being careful not to jostle her injuries. Her eyes snap up to mine at the movement, but I’m thankful she doesn’t try to escape. “You’re here?” she questions with pain in her eyes.
“There’s no place else I’d rather be,” I murmur as I press a gentle kiss to her temple.
Her eyes close as she takes satisfaction in my kiss then nuzzles her head under my chin and up against my chest. “I love you,” she tells me. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”
Hearing her say those three little words for the first time in so long brings a piece of me home, healing something deep inside of me. “I know, Soph,” I say. “I love you, too.”
I drift back off to sleep and wake later to Sophie climbing out of bed. “Where are you going?” I question as I groggily sit up in bed.
“Nowhere, just getting up,” she tells me, still shaky on her feet. “It’s past eleven.”
Shit. I guess sleeping the morning away is what happens when you play a massive game of pro hockey, catch a red-eye flight, and stay up until five in the morning. But seeing as though we’re at Sophie’s parents’ place, I should probably get up.
