“Relax,” I said, low and even. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”
“We’re not though.” She crisscrossed her legs, the inches of space it put between us felt like miles. “You have to be prepared, Bowen. You’re a nurturer. It’s who you are and who you’ll always be. But I may not always be here for you to take care of. You’ve already quit your job and put your whole life on hold for me.” She screwed her eyes shut. “I know you love me, but you’re too amazing of a man to simply exist at my side. We stand on very opposite ends of the whole soul mate debate, but what if you’re wrong? What if I’m not who you’re supposed to end up with? What if there’s someone out there who can love you better than I can? I can’t stand the idea of you being so caught up in my clusterfuck that you wouldn’t even notice them walk by.”
Looking back, I should have seen it. I should have read between the lines and heard her cry for help. I should have fucking dragged her to the hospital the very same night. But that night had reminded me what good felt like, what we felt like, and I was still basking in the high of having made love to a woman who had my full—and forever—undivided attention. I’d naïvely thought we were at a turning point, not a dead end.
Unwilling to match her intensity, I stared at her for several seconds, waiting for her eyes to open. I didn’t want her to only hear what I had to say. I needed her to see me make the promise and then hopefully absorb it so we never had to have this unnecessary conversation again.
Sliding up the bed, I put my back to the headboard and curled my hands around the sides of her neck. “Babe, look at me.”
She shook her head. Eyes still closed. Cheeks still damp.
“Sally,” I pressed. “Look at me.”
In the very next beat, her eyes flashed open, so much fear and pain blazing within. I never got used to it. Seeing her suffer almost broke me. And knowing this time that it was because she was worried about me… Well, that sliced me to the core. I couldn’t fix much for her, but this one I could handle.
“I love you. Every woman in the damn world could walk past me and I wouldn’t see any of them. But let’s just say you decide this isn’t working out for you. Maybe if me stealing all your covers and forgetting to set the coffee maker the night before becomes too much. All you have to do is say the word and I’ll reluctantly get back to looking, okay?”
Her shoulders sagged as she blinked back another round of tears. “I just need you to be happy.”
I swiped my thumb over her bottom lip before leaning in to press a deep and lingering kiss to her mouth. “I am happy. Things are hard right now, but they’ll get better. We always get better.”
“Yeah.” She exhaled, her relief palpable. “We always do.” Leaning back, she retrieved something off her nightstand. “I want you to keep this.”
A smile pulled at my lips as I took the silver safety pin from her fingers. “Is this…the same one?”
She nodded. “You’ve fixed me so many times, Bowen. I want you to have it. That way, maybe one day, I can be the one to fix you.” Wrapping her hand over mine, she closed my hand around the silly memento. “Who knows. Maybe somebody else will need a hero one day.”
Present Day…
I heard Remi’s car door shut.
I heard her start the ignition.
And I heard her drive away.
I saw none of it though because, dumbstruck, I stood on the sidewalk, my gaze glued to the safety pin in my hand.
The safety pin I’d given her.
The safety pin she’d kept.
And the very same safety pin she’d returned. Oh, because why not? As if having a beautiful woman, who I found absolutely mesmerizing—albeit clumsy as hell—and was proving to be as relentless as I was weak wasn’t hard enough. Now I had to deal with deciphering between signs from the universe and chance?
What the fuck did it even mean? Who returned a safety pin of all things?
I knew of only one person, inconvenient as it might have been.
After the plane crash, I’d done a lot of cursing the universe. Why me? Why us? Why her? It had made no sense, after everything we’d been through—everything we’d survived—that I would ultimately lose her.
Sally hadn’t believed in soul mates or fate or even a higher power running the show, and she’d found it hysterical that I—Mr. Analytical as she’d called me—did. There was no other way to explain how every step—and misstep—I’d taken in my life had led me to her.
