Page 85 of Colt
Later—much later, after two more rounds that left us both boneless and satisfied—we lay tangled together in her bed, sweaty and breathless and happier than I’d been in years.
The first time had been reverent. Seven years of grief compressed into one desperate exhale, me doing everything I could to make up for the time we’d lost. I’d led and she’d let me, and it had been right for what it was.
The second round, she’d pushed me onto my back with a look I recognized down to my bones.
“I’ll tell you when to slow down,”she’d said.
I’d laughed until she made me stop.
“That was…” Lilac trailed off, laughing.
“Good?” I pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “Because I have to say, from my perspective—”
“Better than I remembered.” She rolled to face me, her eyes soft. “Which is saying something, because I remembered it being pretty damn good.”
“I’ve had seven years to think about what I’d do if I ever got you back.” I traced the curve of her hip. “I may have developed some ideas.”
“I noticed.” She grinned. “Feel free to share more of those ideas. Frequently.”
I laughed—a real laugh, deep and genuine, the kind I hadn’t felt in years. She laughed too, and for a moment we were just two people in love, deliriously happy, with our whole lives ahead of us.
She traced a pattern on my chest, her fingers moving slow. “More things have been coming back. Little things.” A small smile. “Our first fight. I still can’t believe how angry I was—I couldn’t even finish what I was saying.”
She pressed a kiss to my ribs. “That taco place on Fifth we went to every Friday.”
“The green salsa was legitimately the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
“It was.” Her voice went softer. “And the night you proposed. No ring. Just you.”
“I should have waited. Had a ring.”
“No.” She tilted her head to look at me. “It was exactly right the way it was.”
I pressed a kiss to her hair and held her close. Her stomach growled. We both heard it.
“Don’t say it,” she said.
“Wasn’t going to say anything.”
She laughed and climbed over me. “Come on. Betty left soup.”
She moved through the kitchen in my flannel shirt and nothing else, pulling things from the fridge, and I sat on the counter and watched her and tried not to think about how natural it looked. Her phone was on the table. It buzzed once.
She glanced at it and smiled. Turned the screen toward me:Boys are fine. Took them to Sal’s for dinner. Home by seven. Make good choices.
She covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook.
“She knew the whole time,” Lilac said.
“Betty always knows.”
We ate in silence at the kitchen table, her feet tucked up under her, the shirt slipping off one shoulder.
When we were done she said, “Come back to bed.” Then her expression sobered slightly. “There’s one thing I haven’t remembered,” she said. “That night. At the clubhouse. I reach for it sometimes and… nothing. It’s just gone.”
“Good.” I pulled her closer. “Some things don’t need to be remembered.”
“Several doctors have said it might stay blocked forever. Trauma too severe for my mind to process.”
