Page 119 of Wraith
He rests his chin on the top of my head. “Nah, I’m never comfortable when you’re not in bed with me.”
“Bullshit.” My snort echoes over the backyard. “A marching band can, literally, parade over your actual body, and you wouldn’t even roll over.”
“True that.” He hugs me closer, tighter, and nothing has ever felt as natural as being in this man’s arms. “Still hate it when I wake up and you’re not there.”
I turn around, and when I lift up on my tiptoes, he presses me down until I’m flatfooted. Instead, he hunches his body so that he’s on my level. I brush my lips over his. “I’m never that far.”
“Better not be.” His kiss isn’t gentle, and that’s okay. I don’t want, or need, gentle.
The longer I’ve been home, the less I’ve relied on my defenses, until one day I realized my once precious wall was gone. Wraith hammered at it until he finally reduced it to rubble. Ironically, the more I live without it, the stronger I am. I’m done hiding. Done pretending. No more masks. No more ugly clothing that blends me into the background. Everything is different and wonderful and I’m living a life that’s more than I ever felt I deserved when I was homeless and starving and so lonely, I thought my heart would break in half from the ache of it.
I snake my arms around Wraith’s waist and stare up into his sculpted face. “Remember when we’d sit under the tree in the schoolyard?”
“Remember? I lived for lunch because I knew you’d join me.”
I smirk at his confidence. “Arrogant much?”
He lifts a brow. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” I admit.
His smile is beautiful. “That’s because I’m never wrong.”
“Anyway,” I continue, ignoring his colossal ego. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to tell you I loved you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I blink up at him for a full ten seconds before laughing in his face. “Because that’s exactly what you wanted to hear from the sixteen-year-old version of me.”
Wraith tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his eyes soft as he stares back at me with such an unguarded expression it whispers over my soul. “You mean the sixteen-year-old version of you I was in love with?”
“You were not,” I scoff.
“No? Then you tell me why I counted every freckle on your face.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “Why I made you sit in a certain spot because the sun would hit you at just the right angle.” He kisses my left cheek. “Missed half of what you said because I was lost in all that gold sprinkled in your eyes.” He kisses my right cheek. “I would wait for you to come out of the building, my palms sweaty and my heart racing, and holy shit, when I’d see you walking over to me, it’d be like nothing else mattered but the two of us.”
His words push the air right out of my lungs, leaving me breathless with emotion. “Are you serious?”
“As a goddamn heart attack.”
Thank God Mayhem has its own gravity because I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. With anyone else. Wraith and I are imperfect puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together.
“I love you, Wraith Shaw.”
Wraith drops his forehead to mine, blocking out the world. “Love you, too, runt.”
We have a long road of healing, the two of us, but we’ll make it to the end of the journey. Wish I could snap my fingers and get us there quicker, but sometimes, it’s not about the destination, but who walks beside you. We’ll get there, Wraith and I, because we’re Mayhem born. Baptized in blood and forged in pain. And as long as we have each other, we can withstand any storm.
