Page 384 of Off Limits: The Firsts

But the honesty in my answer does even more so. “Yeah, I do.”

I’m not sure what I expected his reaction to be, but he just nods as if my answer is no surprise to him and gets a soft smile on his lips. “Then these little blips will be worth it. You’ll recover from the fallout. She’ll forgive you.”

“Trust is a hard thing to earn back.”

“Agreed.” He gives a measured nod. “But remember, you don’t need to know the details of her past to love her heart in the present.”

I fall silent as I mull his words over and know they are truer than I care to admit. I think of all I’ve done thus far to prove to her I want her to stay and all the things I haven’t even gotten to show her yet.

“You’ve always loved that girl,” he says softly, as if he’s remembering back, and I wish I could, but so many of my memories are of her not being there. “Have you told her yet?”

“I’m not sure she’s ready to hear it.”

Or maybe I’m afraid that, if she does, she’ll run.

“You don’t give her enough credit. She’s tougher than you think, and maybe that’s where you’ve underestimated her. You have to be all in or get all out. There is no halfway when it comes to love.”

There’s nothing I can say in response so I watch as he walks to the door of the conference room. “And there’s no time like the present since she’s been sitting out in the waiting room for the past several hours.”

“What?”

“Ramos told me you were free to go when I was done with you.”

The lights of the passing cars glance across Grant’s face as he drives to his house. They paint a vivid picture of the emotions roiling beneath the surface.

Or so I can guess.

Because other than saying, “Let’s go,” before he grabbed my hand and led me from the police station, he hasn’t said a word.

He’s been on autopilot. Get in the car. Start it. Seatbelt. Drive in silence—the pulsing of the muscle in his jaw, the flexing of his hands from gripping the steering wheel so tight, the dancing of his eyes between his mirrors and the road. Pull in the driveway. Park.

The house is dark when we enter, silent except for the sounds of our breathing, and we stand facing each other for the longest of moments.

We don’t speak.

We don’t move.

We just accept what has happened without ever exchanging a single word.

We absorb the moment and the weight of it.

That I’m here. In his house. Willing to trust him again.

We can barely see each other’s eyes in the darkness, and yet, I can tell how emotionally drained he is from tonight and how emotionally stripped he is for me.

Without preamble or pretext, he makes the first move when he steps forward and pulls me into his arms. And just like that, we cling to each other as if we can’t get close enough.

“Grant, I—”

“Shh,” he says right before slanting his lips over mine. “Please.” Another brush of a kiss. “I just need you, Em. Now. Here. All of you.”

His lips are on mine again. It’s the same man kissing me, but it feels so very different this time around. Something has shifted between us, changing us intrinsically without changing us at all.

It’s just him. And me.

No past.

No future.