Page 130 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
She turns my favorite shade of pink, her smile radiant. “Then you’re not mad that I included all that stuff?”
I shake my head. “The opposite. It helped me realize… I need to face this. Only…” I trail off.
“What?” she prods.
Our breaths are heavy and loud in the quiet space, our lips so close. But something holds me back from brushing them together again. It’s hard to believe this broken-down version of myself is really the one that she could possibly want.
“I’m obviously not the same as I used to be. What if—” My voice catches unexpectedly, and I have to wait several breaths before I can speak again. “What if I can’t be who you need now? I don’t ever want to hold you back.”
“Reid.” She grazes her lips across mine. “You’re the only reason I’m still pushing myself forward.”
A satisfied noise sounds from the back of my throat as I catch her mouth with mine again. I wrap both hands gently around the side of her neck, tracing my thumbs down the column of her throat, down farther around her shoulders, her torso, her waist, every part of me ablaze.
I kiss her harder, touch her softer. Urging her mouth open with my tongue as I press her against the wall, my body flush with hers. She pushes her hands under my jacket around to my back, yanking myshirt up until her fingers find skin. Clutching at me. Moving against me. Dragging her nails across my back so fiercely they’re sure to leave marks.
One of her dress straps slips down, and I pepper kisses across her bare shoulder. Her head falls back, and she threads her fingers into my hair as I reach around her, grasping for the zipper.
But it catches halfway down her back. I grip it tighter and try to loosen it—pulling it up again, then down the other direction. But it doesn’t budge. It’s completely jammed.
I huff a laugh against her collarbone. “Sorry—it’s stuck.”
Her exhale comes out in shaky streams across my neck. “Of course it is. Here.”
She spins around so I can get a better look at it. My knuckles graze the notch of her spine, and goose bumps cascade across her soft, bare back in response. I see where it’s caught, and after working it a moment, the zipper relents and glides all the way down.
I graze my fingertips across her skin, gently nudging the fabric open to finally reveal her tattoo. My heart completely stops.
The plant is larkspur. A flower that’s all over the mountain and one that survives through the heaviest of winter snowfalls. It frames the words of a short poem that I underline now with the lightest of touches, barely comprehending what I’m seeing.
“This is…” I trail off.
She nods.
“From the card?” I ask.
“From your account.”
I freeze.That’s— What?
She turns to face me, rushing to explain. “I found it over the summer and connected with the poems in every way. I didn’tknowthey were yours—but they felt like you. Theyalwaysfelt like you.”
My breath stutters.
She goes on. “And when you mentioned the card this morning—I didn’t know what you were talking about. It’s been buried in my backpack, untouched, since last year. But I found it today and”—she exhales in disbelief—“I couldn’t believe it was the same one. I still can’t.”
I clutch her rib cage, holding her in place with my palm. The odds of this are so close to impossible I can’t wrap my head around it.
“So, you did this because it reminded you of me?” My thumb swipes across the spot for emphasis, sending a soft shudder through her.
“Yes.”
I meet her eyes again and ask softly, “But… why?”
The word has cracks. As much as I can believe that things between us are different now, I don’t understand how she could’ve done thisthen.
She lifts her eyes to mine. “Because I love you. I’vealwaysloved you.”
A part of me wished. Even knew. But I’ve never been more stunned to finally hear her say it.
