Page 48 of Fixing to be Mine (Valentine Texas #5)

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

COLT

S he doesn’t say anything after I pull her into my arms.

She stays pressed against me, her body finally softening after hours of holding herself together. I feel the moment she shifts—not a collapse, but like she’s giving herself permission to feel the things she’s buried since leaving the city behind.

I let my presence speak louder than anything I could offer.

She cries, and I keep my arms around her.

Eventually, she steps back. Her eyes are red, her face streaked with emotion, but her shoulders are still squared. She looks like a woman who walked through fire and knows exactly what kind of burn she can survive.

“I think I need a shower,” she says hoarsely.

I nod. “Take your time.”

She disappears down the hall without another word. The sound of the door closing is soft. A few seconds later, the water turns on.

I stand in the stillness she left behind and glance around.

I’ve been in this space for two days now, and the weight of who she is finally settles around me.

The penthouse is too curated. The furniture is expensive leather.

The art on the walls is original and bold.

A grand piano sits in the corner of the room, untouched but cared for.

On the marble counter is a stack of unopened mail, a few envelopes embossed with logos I recognize from magazine covers and corporate towers.

Stormy isn’t successful or connected. She’s known. Her name doesn’t echo through rooms like mine does in Valentine; it shapes them before she steps through the door. Stormy left behind a family name, a corporate legacy, headlines, and expectations.

Somehow, she found me in the chaos. If that’s not meant to be, I’m not sure what is.

I stay by the window, my hand resting lightly on the glass, staring out at the city spread beneath us. It’s so different than what I’m used to.

I move to the mantel where there are photos of her and her friends.

My eyes scan over them, and that’s when I see a face I never expected—someone from home.

I pick up the frame, still half convinced I’m imagining things.

But there’s no mistaking her—Lexi Matthews.

Well, now it’s Calloway, after she married the love of her life, Easton.

In the photo, her arm is slung around Stormy’s shoulders, like they’ve known each other a long time. And maybe they have.

The world always seems so damn big. But right now, it feels small enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

Behind me, I hear her footsteps. She comes up quietly, still towel-drying her hair, barefoot in a fresh pair of leggings and one of my T-shirts.

I smile at her. “You know Lexi?”

Stormy steps beside me, a small grin tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah. She’s married to Easton—one of my close friends.

She’s the one who told me about Valentine.

Said it was the perfect place to get lost. Peaceful.

Kind. Beautiful in the ways that mattered.

I’d never have known about the town if it wasn’t for Lexi. ”

I glance back at the photo and am so damn grateful. “Guess I owe her a thank-you.”

“I do too.” She pulls back slightly.

A question sits heavy in my chest. It’s not new, but it’s grown louder with every minute I’ve spent in this city, surrounded by proof of her past life.

I could keep it to myself. I could let the moment pass. But I don’t want to move forward with even a shadow of a doubt between us.

“Do you believe I’m the man who can make you happy?” I ask.

Her expression doesn’t shift. She holds my gaze like she’s been waiting for the question.

“Absolutely,” she says.

I study her face, every curve and line of it, every bit of strength and softness. “I don’t think it’s a weird question, but why?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Because you see me. Not the brand, not the version of me that fits in a press release. Just me.”

I feel something in my chest pull tight, and I smile. “I do.”

“Now that you know everything … does it change anything for you?”

I shake my head once. “Not even a little. I don’t care what the rest of the world sees when they look at you. I know the real you. The woman I fell in love with the moment our eyes met.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

“I’m so lucky to have met you,” I tell her.

She reaches for my hand, her fingers threading between mine. “I’m so lucky to get to love you.”

The city hums quietly behind the glass, but neither of us gives it attention. We’ve seen enough today. Said enough. And yet I can feel there’s still one more truth she’s holding.

She lets go of my hand, only long enough to turn and sit on the edge of the couch. Her elbows rest on her knees, her eyes fixed on the floor for a second, then up at me.

“I want to go home,” she says. Her voice is soft, but there’s no uncertainty in it.

Hearing her call our place home does something to me.

I sit beside her, close enough that our knees bump. “You’re staying with me forever?”

“Yes. I can find a place if living together is too soon, but I’m done here. I’ve said what I needed to say. I’ve faced the people I needed to face. I don’t want to wait. I want to leave now. Tonight, if we can.”

“Darlin’, my bed is your bed from now until the end of time,” I tell her, swooping her in for a kiss, feeling like the happiest man on this planet. “You’re sure?”

She nods again. “I’ve never been surer of anything. The only thing I want to take back with me is you.”

I reach up and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, watching her eyes stay locked on mine.

“Whatever makes you happy, darlin’,” I say. “Let’s go home.”

“If we leave soon, maybe we can make it for sunset?”

“Lead the way.”

She reaches for my hand, and we don’t waste time.

Stormy makes one call, and the jet is ready in under an hour.

We don’t talk much as we pack. We’re all smiles and random kisses.

“I’ll have everything shipped to the house,” she says with one suitcase that I wheel outside.

The SUV pulls up to the private terminal in the afternoon. We won’t make it home by sunset, but we’ll definitely make there for sunrise in the morning. The city is washed in orange and blue and steel, and when the private jet takes off, she doesn’t glance back. Not once.

“You okay?” I ask, pressing my lips to the softness of her neck.

“I am now.”

The cabin lights are low, and I lace my fingers with hers without a second thought.

She leans her head on my shoulder. “Want to get your Mile-High Club card stamped again?”

“Hell yeah,” I say, and she stands, leading me to the back of the jet.