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“I see you, Captain. I see you so well I struggle to believe my own eyes.” I cocked my head, suddenly realizing something. “You remind me a bit of Gus. Gus is good, to his bones, he’s just good. And Amber is everything to him.” Oh, boy. Was I making his feelings out to be more than I should? Had I misread?
“Go on.”
Looking up, I found his gaze resting on me steadily, waiting.
“You make me feel like I’m everything,” I blurted out quickly. “And the reality is, you are everything I always dreamed of in a man. Kind, loyal, devoted, confident, calm, funny, and so damn good, Darling. You’re just good.”
His lips tipped up on one side. “Well, you’re everything I never knew I wanted.”
I laughed softly, not wanting to wake Brayleigh.
“It’s true,” he murmured. “It’s as if there was a closed door in my life, but I’d been walking past it for so long I forgot it was there. Then one day, you showed up and blew it right off its hinges. Now I can’t imagine my life without you.”
“There’s no closing that door, hm?”
“What door?” He grinned. “You blasted it to smithereens.”
“Smithereens? Who says that?”
“It’s a legitimate word,” he argued, pulling out his cell. “Fragments. Pieces. Bits. Smithereens.”
Carefully, he rolled Brayleigh onto the couch, tucking a pillow in front of her, and held out his hand. “Let’s get some food going. I’m starving.”
I linked my fingers through his and followed him into the kitchen. How much warmer it seemed to me now that it was filled with memories.
“Stir fry?”
“Mm, yes, please.”
Lucky pulled out the cutting board and his sharpest knife.
A thick line of red, from wrist to elbow, following the path of the blade up my arm.
“Do you want peppers and onions?”
The point of the knife against his throat, my face horrified as I lose control of my hand.
“Yup. Do we have mushrooms? I’ll need carrots and celery first.”
I relaxed my shoulders and acknowledged the crazy thoughts with a smile while I passed Lucky the vegetables.
“Shit, fuck!”
I spun around in time to see a wide splatter of Lucky’s bright red blood land across the counter.
“Lucky! What the hell did you do?” I grabbed a tea towel and rushed to press it over the cut.
“Cut myself. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Really?” I indicated the blood splattered over the counter.
The pan sizzled on the stove.
Lucky pressed down hard on the tea towel.
I turned off the heat. “Let me see,” I demanded.
Lucky lifted the towel. It was a deep cut, but it wasn’t the geyser I imagined it would be. “You need stitches.”
