Page 315 of Cross Checked
Her gaze flicked over my shoulder, then back to my face, and the teasing drained from her expression.
“Cross Check,” she whispered.
I looked down at her.
My beautiful, furious, impossible girl.
My Pip.
Several months ago, I had lain on concrete and thought I might die, pissed that I was late to meet her. Now she was standing in front of me in a penthouse my parents had bought because none of us knew how to let go after almost losing each other, with both our families around us, our friends crammed into every corner, and the entire room smelling like Italian food, champagne, spring air, and the kind of happiness that still scared the hell out of me if I looked at it too directly.
I could have waited.
Could have taken her somewhere private. Somewhere romantic. Somewhere with candles and a view and no audience full of Bennetts, Mercers, hockey players, best friends, and one private chef pretending not to watch from the kitchen.
But that wasn’t us.
We had never been clean timing.
We were kitchen confessions before coffee. Glass kisses in front of twenty thousand people. Love spoken like a hit to thechest. Survival carved out of blood and noise and her hand in mine.
I took her hand and placed the marble in her palm.
Her fingers curled around it automatically before she looked down.
The second she saw it, her breath stopped.
The room went silent behind her.
Bliss stared at the marble, the black glass, the neon pink and yellow sparks, the hand-painted CM55 in the center. Her eyes filled so fast it destroyed me.
“Cade,” she whispered.
“This might be a hard Never for you, Pip,” I said, my voice rougher than I wanted it to be, “but I need you to understand what it represents.”
Her lips trembled.
“Don’t,” she said immediately, which meant absolutely do.
“You probably bought fifty new Nevers for all the shit we’ve been through the last few months.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and I brushed it away with my thumb.
“I’ll never steal your thunder when it comes to Nevers,” I said. “That’s yours. Your mom represented that word long before I ever earned the right to stand anywhere near it. But I do want this one.”
Her face crumpled. “You’re being emotionally peculiar in front of guests.”
“I know.”
“It’s rude.”
“Offensive, honestly.”
A broken laugh came out of her, half sob, half Bliss trying desperately to survive me with sarcasm.
Good.
I needed her laughing for this. I needed her breathing. I needed her here.
