Page 195 of True Blue

That’s it. That’s what we needed from each other. It seems so simple, but it’s not. It's never really that way, but that’s what makes it special. Because relationships, I’ve learned, are work.

It’s consistent communication, understanding, choosing each other over and over again when it’s hard, when the person has hurt your feelings, speaking up when they do so, and not having the fear that they’ll react badly. It’s placing your heart in someone else’s hands and hoping they’ll keep it safe.

I allowed hers to be mistreated, and she placed mine down and left.

And now we’re together again.

Unbreakable.

“I love you too, Indie. So much.”

She smiles and reaches down between us. We don’t even wait for me to take my pants off, too eager, and I, for the first time in too long, slide into Indie.

We gasp at the contact, and I can’t resist her sweet, plump lips as I lean down to kiss her. I keep my tempo nice and easy, neither of us feeling that same frantic energy earlier. It’s settled into something that feels heavy, but a good warm weight around us.

“Tell me you’re an artist,” Indie gasps out.

“I’m an artist,” I moan.

“Tell me you’re an amazing artist,” Indie smiles, moaning when I grind my hips, rubbing against her clit.

Tears sting my eyes at her words.

“I’m an amazing artist,” I groan, and Indie pushes me back to roll us over so that she’s on top. My hands go to her hips as she gently rolls them, and leans down so that I can catch a nipple in my mouth, sucking and licking.

Indie moans, holding my head to her chest as she rides me.

“Tell me that you know you’re safe with me.”

Popping off her nipple, I lean back to look her right in her eyes.

“I’m safe with you,” I say, reaching up to pull her mouth down to mine. I pull back only to growl. “And you’re safe with me, Indie.”

“I love you,” she gasps, eyes locked onto mine. “God—I love you so much, Teddy…”

“I will always love you. I will always choose you, Indie,” I moan against her lips. “Always, honey. Always.”

A week later, I’m placing Nana’s desk in the center of what is now Indie’s office.

The desk is very familiar to me, a strong, heavy piece of wood with some dents and dings that I offered to sand and stain for Indie, but she refused, saying she liked the reminder of Nana, of the life this desk saw before it became ours. I remember Nana sitting at the desk, me lying on the floor next to her as I played with blocks.

“That is a mighty fine structure, Teddy,” she would compliment whatever architectural abomination my six-year-old self came up with.

And now it’s Indie’s, and that thought makes my chest feel too full.

All of Nana’s furniture has been moved from Indie’s former apartment. Lease broken, address changed, and we're finally under one roof.

After last week, after we made love for the first time since everything fell apart, we were lying tangled together in my bed. Indie’s head was on my chest, her hair spread across my skin, her fingers running through my chest hair.

“Move in here, Indie,” I said abruptly. It was building in me the entire time; I’m surprised I didn’t shout it the second time I came with her bouncing on top of me. Indie’s hand paused on my chest, and I held my breath as she tilted her face up to meet mine.

She looked at me for a long moment before she smiled.

“Okay,” she said, laying her head back down.

I blinked. “Okay?”

“Okay,” she confirmed, her smile turning brighter.