Page 68 of Falling For Alaska

And then he kisses me.

Jack

Those blue eyes will be the end of me.

"Jack," she breathes, breaking our kiss, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I...I love you." I take her hand in mine, running my thumb over the scars, pressing reverent kisses along the pale ridges of each mark, rewriting the pain that put them there. She shivers beneath my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she watches me, unguarded.

"I love you t-too, Alaska," I murmur, letting my lips linger against her wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath. Her breath hitches as I trace my fingers up her arm, following the constellations of scars that mark her battles. When I meet her cobalt pools again, they shine with untold promises.

“I’m…I’m not afraid anymore.” Her voice trembles. My chest tightens as I search for hesitation, anything that tells me she’s second-guessing this. But there’s nothing there, just trust. A low growl rumbles in my chest as I scoop her into my arms, her warmth seeping into me like sunlight breaking through the clouds. I carry her upstairs, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. By the time I lower her onto the bed, I’m struggling to breathe, not from nerves, but from the overwhelming weight of what this means. I hesitate, brushing the hair from her face, my fingers shaking as I trace the curve of her cheek. I press a kiss to her forehead, then another at her temple, a silent promise that I’ll cherish every part of her. Kneeling on the bed, I lean over her, caught in the pull of her ocean-blue eyes before claiming her lips with mine. Our kiss is unrestrained, made of two storms finally colliding.

Her fingers slide up my back, featherlight but possessive, tracing the lines of my body, marking me in her own delicate way. In the hush of the night, with the scent of her skin and the beating of our hearts, I catch her from drowning. I lead her to the shore, her shivering body finding shelter in my arms, an unbreakable vow sealing its fate. At some point, I stop, memorizing her flushed cheeks, her wild tangled hair, the way moonlight spills through the window.

She blinks up at me, a teasing glint in her eye. "What is it?" she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of my lips.

I take in her beauty, her aura, my chest aching from how much I love her. "I love you, Alaska. Until the day I d-die. And even after." Her breath hitches and she gives me a breathtaking smile.

"I love you too, Jack," she chants. And I surrender, wrapping around her like leaves curling into each other, praying for this feeling to never leave us. Happiness morphs into our hearts, and I realize there’s no need to chase it anymore. Because I’m holding it in my arms. All it took was falling for her and I was done for.

My everything.

My Alaska.

Epilogue

3 years later

Jack

“Wait, say it ag-again. I n-need to hear it again,” I ask her as she bounces on her feet.

“No more meds. It’s over,” she says, hands clutching her heart. I close the space between us and fly her into my arms, spinning her around in the living room of our house. Alaska’s been seeing a psychiatrist for the last three years, working through her brother’s death. After a lot of second-guessing, she tried a medical treatment that helped her cope and ease her anxiety. The doctor had been slowly lowering her dosage over the past year, and now, it’s done. She won’t need them anymore to live normally.

She was hesitant about meds at first, but when she realized how balanced and calm they made her feel, she began to embrace it. She started enjoying life more, worrying less. Even the ice, her biggest trigger, vanished thanks to the work she did with her doctor. I couldn’t be prouder to see how far she’s come. How full of life she’s become, now that she has processed her grief. It’ll always be there, but now she can move on and talk about it rather than live within it.

“I’m so p-proud of you, sweetheart,” I tell her, kissing the heck out of my woman. I set her down, her bare feet rising on tiptoe just to keep kissing me.

“You know what it means?” she murmurs.

“Hell yeah,” I grin, my hand drifting to her belly. Alaska wanted to wait until finishing her treatment before we tried for a child, and I respected that completely. She’s the one calling the shots.

Smiling like I just won the lottery, I hold my beautiful, brilliant wife in my arms. I glance around and take in what we’ve accomplished in the last three years: a nice ring on her finger, a new wooden house big enough for our plans, with a massive garden where Alaska grows vegetables and herbs for the kitchen. She decorated our house with all sorts of books and plants that go perfectly with the large beams of the ceiling. Wool blankets are draped over the linen armchairs, and a vintage rug grounds the living room where we both enjoy watching movies at night. A cluster of framed art and handwritten quotes from her favorite books covers one wall of the entryway, and I always catch myself pausing there, reading the words that struck her, learning something new about her every time. Our home isn’t far from Lakeside. I didn’t want her to be isolated in the woods while I’m at work. Her parents come for dinner every Sunday, and once a month, my mom and sister join too. Bella visits more often now, which delights Alaska.

After a long talk with her mom, she decided to keep her bookshop but hired someone to help manage it. She still owns it and drops in from time to time, but her main focus is our home now, which, according to her, is the perfect balance.

Captain Fletcher really did make heads roll at the County Police Department. A few months later, Alaska received a fat check and an apology letter, which she keeps tucked religiously under our mattress.

As for my job, I officially became Jared’s partner, and his family fully adopted me after I married Alaska. They were there, along with our families, when we exchanged vows in the mountains. It wasn’t anything fancy; we kept it simple. Nevertheless, she said it was the best day of her life. And it was mine, too.

“I love you,” she says, looking at me, biting back a smile.

“I love you too, Mrs. Parkson,” I reply, making her blush as I scoop her into my arms, bridal style. She giggles as I carry her onto our swinging bench on the porch, watching the sun dip low over the garden, birds chirping above the bunch of chickens she got last year.

“One day I’m g-gonna end one of those to make a r-roast,” I tease, pointing.

“Never. They’re house chickens, Jack. They’ll play with the baby once it’s here,” she scolds, dead serious. So I’m the kind of guy who has house chickens now, and I’m not even mad about it. I chuckle, mesmerized by the life we’ve built and the sweet woman in my arms.

“As long as you’re happy, sweetheart,” I say, kissing her cherry lips.

She kisses me back, whispering, “The happiest.” And I hear it loud and clear, tattooing it on my heart.

The happiest.