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Looking for me.

My heart damn near stops.

I immediately take her hand.

And she sighs.

Settles.

Still asleep.

Trusting me.

Needing me.

Maybe even loving me.

Jesus. I really fucking hope she can love me again.

I lean over and kiss her forehead.

Her eyelashes flutter.

“Less?” she whispers sleepily.

“I'm right here, Rusty.”

“Mmm.”

She squeezes my hand.

“Don't go.”

Fuck, that stings.

Because three years ago I did exactly that.

Three years ago I let fear make decisions for me.

Three years ago I walked away from the only woman I've ever loved.

Never again.

“Not going anywhere, Sweetheart.”

Her eyes remain closed.

A sleepy smile appears.

And just like that, every ugly thing inside me settles.

Because she's home.

Not New York.

Not Broadway.

Not Manhattan.