Page 65 of It Happened on a Sunday

Sloane

Floating back to earth takes a few minutes, but when I do, it’s to find that Sly’s gathered me in his arms.

He’s got a biceps underneath my head for a cushion, and his other arm is wrapped around me as his fingers toy with the ends of my hair.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes searching my features reverently.

“Not sure I can take credit for my face,” I answer. “But thank you.”

“You can’t not take credit for it, either.” He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. “It’s attached to you.”

“You know what I mean.” I take a moment to stroke his hair off his forehead. The same lock always falls forward, and though it’s sexy as fuck, I also like to look into his eyes when I’m talking to him.

“I do,” he agrees quietly. “But you never mention the people who are responsible for giving you that face. Not to mention all this gorgeous hair.”

“I’m happy to talk to you about my hair stylist whenever you want. Believe me, Marty will fight to the death with anyone else who tries to take credit for this hair.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” He sighs. “You never mention your parents.”

“And I’m not going to now, either.” I roll away from him and start to stand up, but Sly wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against him like he isn’t quite ready to let me go yet. “No reason to ruin a perfectly good morning.”

“Things were that bad with your mom and dad?” he asks, concerned.

“Not bad. More like…not that important.”

“I can’t imagine that.” He sounds shocked, and I get it. But not everyone has an abuela Ximena or three sisters in their lives. “They’re your family.”

“You don’t need to use the let’s not send Sloane spiraling voice. There’s no grand trauma here. My parents got divorced when I was young, and my dad wasn’t interested in sticking around. I barely knew him, so I never really missed him.

“As for my mom…” I shrug. “She got me into this business when I was just a kid. Said she never wanted my future to depend on the whim of a man. She wanted me to be able to take care of myself without working two jobs. Now she has a condo in Florida. I send her money every month, and she doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to do. ”

“Including see her daughter?” he asks, and I can practically hear his brows rise.

“It works for the both of us. I swear.”

He still doesn’t look convinced, but I don’t want to spend any more time on this lack of a Greek tragedy, so I turn to face him. “It’s my turn to ask you something.” My discussion with Lucia yesterday is still fresh in my mind, and it’s made me wonder…

He gives me the slow grin that’s been making me feel too many things from the first moment I saw it. “Ask away, corazón.”

A shiver of desire makes its way down my spine at the look in his eyes, and a part of me wants nothing more than to give in to it. In to him.

But if I do, I’ll never get the answer I’m looking for. So I decide fuck it and just blurt out what I’ve been thinking—okay, worrying—about. “A little while ago, you asked me if I was okay.”

“I did.” He props himself up on an elbow as the amusement fades from his eyes. “Are you not? Did I—”

“No! I’m great. I’m perfect. You’re always so careful with me, and I’m so grateful for that. I truly am. I know it can be hard with my past. I just want to make sure… You know that I want you, right? Like more than just physically. I want you , Sly. In case that wasn’t clear or you thought—”

I’m one step from rambling now, so I force myself to stop. Force myself to snap my jaw shut and wait for Sly to say something, do something, besides watch me with eyes that are brimming with naked affection.

Long seconds pass, and I grow nervous under the scrutiny—ironic, considering how I make my living. But there’s a big difference between staring at the public persona who wears her flaws like badges of honor and examining the private Sloane who hides any chance she gets.

Not that I’ve ever had a chance to hide from Sly. From the beginning, he’s heard what no one else has—the harmonies in my silence, the truth in every lyric I was too scared to sing out loud. I just need to make sure that he recognizes this, too.

Finally he says, “There’s something I want to say, but I don’t know how to talk about it without upsetting you.”

My stomach clenches at his words, my heart beating fast and hard. But fear isn’t enough to keep me quiet. Very little could shut me up after hearing that caveat. “Oh my God, upset me, please.” I rush the words out. “I need to know what’s going on in your head.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he bursts out, hands clenching and jaw working furiously. “I don’t ever want you to feel with me the way you did with… I want you to know that I would never…”

He trails off, like he’s afraid I’ll crumble if he even says the word.

Or maybe he’s just as afraid that he will . I can see it now, the rage and the pain that he’s kept hidden from me even as it’s eaten him up inside.

Fuck.

Am I never going to be free of Jarrod and what he did to me? Or is he going to haunt me—and every relationship I have—forever?

The thought hits me like a wrecking ball, has me curling in on myself as the same old feelings flow through me. Pain, anger, desperation, weakness. They overwhelm me, threaten to shatter me into so many pieces I’ll never find a way back together.

And I almost let them. Because it’s easy. It’s familiar. It helps me distance myself from everything that’s happened—then, now, and in all the spaces in between.

But then I look into Sly’s soft, beautiful, loving eyes. I breathe in the warm sandalwood scent of him. I remember the first time he made me laugh when I was so sure I’d forgotten how. And in that moment, I realize the only power Jarrod has over me, over us, is the power I give him.

“Everything that happened with Jarrod fucked me up, and I chose to deal with it by locking myself so deep inside the Black Widow that I barely remembered who I was without her. I stayed there until I met you, and you gave me a reason to fight my way out.”

“It kills me that I can’t protect you from what he did,” he tells me, voice gritty. “I can’t go back and stop him from hurting you. All I can do is make sure you never, for even a minute, feel with me the way you did with him.”

“I need you to hear this, Sly.” I move closer to him so I can rest a hand on his chest and cup his perfect jaw in my palm. “It’s not your job to protect me any more than it’s your job to heal me. That’s on me. Your job, though I hesitate to call it that, is to love me—”

“I do love you, Sloane.” He turns his head just a little, presses soft kisses into my palm. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too. And I want you in all the ways one person can want another.” I hold his fathomless brown eyes with my own.

“And I need that to be enough for you, Sly. I need you to want this moment more than you want to right any of the wrong ones before it. This moment and all the moments that come after—the ones we choose to make together—are what matter. The past can stay where it belongs.”

I wait, breath held and hands trembling, for his response.

It doesn’t take long.

He scoops me up and rolls us both over until I’m sitting on top of him, my legs straddling his waist and hair falling in a curtain around us.

“Fuck the past. I want our future and every boring, fantastical, terrifying, awe-inspiring moment that comes with it.” He lifts a brow as his hand moves up to cup the back of my head. “Okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” I answer as he tugs me down until my lips are barely an inch from his. “It’s perfect.”

“And so are you.” To prove it, he closes the space between us and kisses me until I can’t remember my name. My knees press into his hips, anchoring me here, in this moment, when I choose him. Choose us.

In this moment, I’m not center stage. I’m home. And that’s more than enough.