Page 97 of A Love That Saved Us

He smiles, a soft chuckle following. “That’s the day I met you. The day of my surgery.” He squeezes my hand. “Nothing on this arm has made me a better man more than you.”

I pull his arm toward me, running my fingers along the ink, taking it all in. It’s done really well. The lion is stunning, fierce and detailed, and the only color on the entire sleeve is in its eyes. A piercing, vibrant blue.

“These eyes look like yours.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to be,” he says. “The lion represents courage. It’s kind of a mirror for me, learning to live with my fears and anxieties, instead of running from them. Choosing the right thing even when I’m staring down my own weaknesses.”

“That’s cool,” I murmur. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Thank you. Matt’s guy did it. It’s still not finished. There’s more shading and detail to fill in.”

My fingers drift higher, tracing the anchor on his bicep. I pause when I reach the current year, printed just to the side of my initials, slightly off-center.

My brow furrows. “Why is this just the year?”

His head tips back, eyes peering down at mine. A smirk curves across his lips, and it takes everything in me not to lean in and melt into it.

“That’s not done yet,” he says, nodding toward the empty space. “I’m waiting for the full date.”

“What do you mean?”

He lets out a deep, low laugh. “That’ll be the day I get you back. The day you move back in with me.”

I shake my head in disbelief, pressing my lips together to keep from smiling. God, that’s so Jensen. That confidence. That cocky charm that somehow never crosses into arrogance—it does something to me. It’s swoony and heartwarming. But more than anything, it makes me believe in him.

Gives me hope that maybe this version of Jensen is here to stay.

I’m crawling into his lap before I can think, straddling him. My palms press against his solid abs as I slide my hands up to his chest, eyes never leaving his. “What if I never move back in?” I whisper.

“Then I guess I’ve got a random year tattooed on my arm until I can add the rest. If anything, it’ll be a reminder of what I lost. And to do better.”

His hands find my thighs, slowly sliding up. Anticipation, mixed with a need to show him how much I love him, burns low in my core, and a slow ache builds between my legs.

“But I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he says. “Even if it stays incomplete for months or years. Even if it takes?—”

My mouth cuts him off, and he meets my kiss with the same quiet devotion.

I’ve never wanted something to be more true than this: Jensen. Changed.

Better. Stronger. Here…

Waiting for me.

Loving me.

Being the husband I know he can be.

He was the best boyfriend. The best fiancé.

And then he lit our marriage on fire.

His hand slips under my shirt, cupping my breast, thumb grazing my nipple. I moan, grinding down onto him, his length pressing firm against me in all the right ways.

He deepens the kiss, arms wrapping around me, pulling me close, skin against skin. The warmth reminding me that tonight, I’m not alone.

I’m still scared. Still angry.

But not at him.