Page 90 of Unleashed
"Exactly my point. Eighteen is old enough to know better."
She laughs, and then her voice goes quiet. "A couple of kids?"
"At least. Maybe three. A ranch house on the east side with a wrap-around porch, just like we always wanted. You'd have Penny. I'd have Seven. Sunday dinners with the family. You'd still be writing, but maybe for the local paper instead of chasing mafia stories in LA."
"That sounds?—"
"Boring?" I offer.
"Perfect," she whispers it. "That sounds perfect, Ace."
I tighten my arm around her and press my lips to the top of her head.
"We can still have that, Goldie. All of it. It ain't too late."
I’d give anything to have this for the rest of my life. Just us, and one day, our children, lying in the back of my truck, all trying to find a constellation called Frank that my dad made up. That’s the one thing I wish for on every shootin’ star. That is my dream.
She doesn't answer. But she presses closer. And her breathing starts to slow, the way it always does when she's safe and warm, and the world has stopped spinning long enough for her to rest.
I watch the stars. Count the ones I know. Make up names for the ones I don't, the way Dad used to do when I was small, pointing at the sky and sayingthat one's called Frankjust to make me laugh.
Her breathing evens out. Her hand goes slack against my chest.
She's asleep.
I lie there for a while longer. Holding her. Watching the sky turn. Listening to the sound of her breathing, the sound I haven't heard in six years, the sound I used to fall asleep to every night, the one that tells me she's here and she's real, and she's mine.
When I let out a yawn, I know it’s time to head back, so I sit up slowly. She stirs but doesn't wake. I gather the blankets around her, slide off the tailgate, and scoop her up.
She weighs nothing. Or maybe she weighs everything. Hard to tell the difference when you're carrying the only person who ever made the world make sense.
Her head lolls against my shoulder. She murmurs something, my name, I think, or maybe just a sound, and her fingers curl into my shirt.
I carry her to the cab. Set her in the passenger seat. Buckle her in. She slumps against the window, and I tuck the blanket around her.
The drive back to Sterling Ranch is quiet. Just the engine and the road and the stars. I take the long way. Not because I need to. Because I want this to last. This feeling. This night. Her sleeping beside me with hay still in her hair and my marks on her skin and a smile on her face that I put there.
I pull up to my house on the east side of the property. Too much space for one man. Just enough for two.
I cut the engine. Walk around. Open her door and catch her before she tips out.
"Ace?" she mumbles, eyes still closed.
"I got you, pretty girl. Go back to sleep."
I carry her up the porch steps. Through the front door. Down the hallway to my bedroom, the one with the king-size bed that's only ever had me in it, the one with the window that faces east so the sunrise wakes you up, the one that's been waiting for her, even if I never said it out loud.
I lay her down and pull the covers over her, and just watch her with a smile on my face. That silver nose ring. Her long lashes. Her tiny little freckles on her cheeks.
She reaches for me before I've even stood up. Her hand finds my wrist, her fingers wrapping around it.
"Please stay with me," she whispers.
I kick off my boots. Toss off my clothes. All of them. And slide in beside her, pulling her against my chest.
“Wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”
She settles into me. Her back to my chest, my arm around her waist, and her fingers laced through mine and pulled up against her heart.
