Page 137 of Keep Me Close

I narrow my eyes. “But do you really fucking love me?”

With a chuckle, she presses her lips to mine. “I do. So much that it hurts to breathe when we’re not together.”

“Same, baby.”

My mouth settles over hers. The kiss isn’t quick. It’s slow and deep and full of everything we don’t need to say out loud because we just know.

When we finally pull apart, she stays tucked against me.

“You mean everything to me, Knox.”

I caress her cheek with my knuckles. “Right back at you, Hollywood.”

After everything it took for Cheyenne to fight for the life she wanted and still choose to come home to me, a deep certainty takes root within me.

This isn’t a moment or a temporary arrangement.

This woman is my future.

And I can’t wait for it to unfold with her at my side.

Bonus Chapter

Sloane

By the time I get home, my feet are throbbing, my head is pounding, and I’m approximately one crappy comment away from faking my own death.

The apartment looks like a barely contained disaster. There’s a backpack dumped in the middle of the living room floor. Somebody left a cereal bowl on the coffee table near the TV. Math worksheets are spread across the table, and there’s a hoodie draped over the back of a chair. A single sock hangs off the arm of the couch like it gave up halfway through life.

That’s a choice I feel deep in my bones.

I nudge the door shut with my hip, and drop my bag onto the floor before spotting tennis shoes abandoned in the kitchen.

“Sawyer,” I call without raising my voice.

There’s a beat and then a groan from the couch. “What? I put them away.”

I continue staring at the sneakers. “Really? Did they get up and walk to the kitchen on their own?”

“Hey, anything’s possible, Sis.”

I close my eyes for a brief second. After eight hours spent at the bakery, one college class, and half a chapter of reading snuck in during my breaks, I’m running on caffeine, bad posture, and whatever fumes I’ve got left in the tank, which isn’t much.

I kick off my shoes by the door and head to the kitchen. “Move them before they get thrown in the trash. After the day I’ve had, that’s not an idle threat.”

“Wow,” my younger brother mutters. “Hostile.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen hostile yet.”

That gets me absolutely nothing except a dramatic sigh from him and a snort from the table where Faith is hunched over her laptop, pencil tucked into the messy knot at the top of her head.

At least one of them is doing homework. We’ll consider that a win.

Caleb, unfortunately, is standing on a kitchen chair while rifling through the cabinet. “We’re out of crackers.”

I drop my forehead briefly against the refrigerator. “Sounds like you’ll have to survive without them tonight.”

He groans. “But I like crackers with soup. It’s my favorite.”