Page 181 of Lost Lyrebird

I’ve never felt so self-conscious, so unsure.Every detail matters—from the tone of my lip gloss, my jewelry, to the way my hair curls just right over my shoulder—because he’s going to see me.See the real me without a disguise for one purpose or another.

It’s stupid, really, this back and forth in my head.But the weight of today—of what this visit means—has me second-guessing everything.I’ve changed my outfit a dozen times, put my hair up, taken it down, wiped off my lipstick and reapplied a few different shades, trying to find one that fit just right, like I’m some lovesick teenager.

I finally settled on an Anne Taylor leopard-print top and designer leather pants, paired with black Dolce & Gabbana heels.Because I’m no longer hiding my wealth, or my addiction to high fashion.This is me.The outfit feels like a second skin.

I wonder if he’s doing the same—worrying about what I’ll think of this version of him.Probably not, but the thought settles some of my nerves.

I flip down the visor in my Beamer, checking my reflection one last time.The gloss shines perfectly, but there’s a smudge under my eyes, a leftover trace of the tears I shed earlier, and I swipe it away with a tissue, trying to make myself look presentable, though it feels futile.Because inside, I’m a mess.

I take a hit from my inhaler and do a few deep breathing techniques.My heart’s still racing, a flutter of panic at the back of my throat, but really, it’s now or never.

You’ve never been a coward, and you’re not about to start now.

I grab the box from the backseat, hip-check the car door shut, and start toward the facility.I force myself to breathe slow and steady.God help me, only this man has the power to send my emotions spiraling like this—turning me inside out.

When I finally make it inside, the facility feels colder and emptier than I expected.The nurse at the reception desk directs me down the hallway and to the right, but when I get there, the room is empty.

For a split second, fear grips me, it appears as if no one occupies the room.The bed’s made, everything is sparse and impersonal or tucked away.The fear that maybe he didn’t make it through this after all and left is there, but then I turn and see his shirts hanging in the open closet.

I breathe out a sigh of relief.He’s still here—still fighting.

After depositing the box on the bed, I walk back to the front.The nurse looks confused at first, but then personally guides me to the courtyard.She points him out from afar, and the moment I see him, the world tilts and resets itself.

I’m drawn forward by the mere sight of him.

His back is to me, but even from here, I can see he’s different.He’s standing facing the sunset, his posture stronger than I’ve seen in months.He’s wearing simple clothes—just jeans and a dark gray Henley, his hands tucked into his back pockets.

His hair hangs down over his shoulders, catching the soft golden light of the setting sun.There’s something quietly powerful about him, like the roughness of him has been sanded down just enough to reveal his quiet strength.

As I get closer, I realize he’s put some muscle on.It shows in the broader set of his shoulders, the definition of his arms, and his lean waist.He’s filled out again and has been working on his body, something I knew from our phone calls, but not something I’ve seen.He looks good.Like he’s in between the man I met and the man he was when I came back to him.

A man who, despite all the scars and darkness, is still standing.

The trees behind him are a blend of maples, cherry blossoms, and aspens, and the colors stretch out in front of him in hues of maroon, pink, and varying shades of green.The scene is so vivid, so starkly beautiful, that I imprint it in my mind, wanting to remember him like this—strong, alive, standing against this backdrop, no longer a ghost but real and here and waiting for me to find him.

My heart aches, my soul recognizing how special this day is, how monumental.It’s as if no matter how many twists and turns we took to get here, this was always where we’d end up.Together.

If I didn’t think it sounded like some hopeless romantic bullshit, I’d swear he’s my soulmate.My twin flame.Because how else do I explain the way my heart reacts when I see him?The way my whole body hums with awareness when he’s near?This undeniable response makes me wonder and believe that there’s more to us than biological chemistry.

The crunch of leaves underfoot must give me away, because he turns slightly.The sunset cast golden highlights over his rugged face.The moment his gaze lands on me, his face lights up, and everything inside me stirs.

He wreaks havoc on my heart with just that one look.

His gaze is warm and piercing, brighter, but still holding that same depth, the weight of everything he’s been through.

And God, he looks fucking incredible.

He turns fully toward me, a full smile splitting across his face, and that’s it.A tear escapes.My throat tightens.My voice is hoarse with emotion as I call out, “Hey, baby.”

He opens his tattooed arms, and I walk straight into them.He hugs me fiercely, and I bury my face in his chest, soaking in the comfort found within his arms.It’s like the warmest blanket in front of a fire on a rainy day.They are solace and peace, and everything my body has been aching for.

I hug him just as fiercely, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

His scent is a heady mix of cedar and mint and all him.It settles my nervous energy somehow, and I could breathe it in forever.

After a long moment, he draws back and cups my face, his thumb gently traces my jaw.His eyes stay locked on mine, the intensity of his gaze makes my heart flutter.

That smile, the one he lost for so long, is there.Seeing it has butterflies tap-dancing in my chest.Like’s he’s saved it for me, for this moment.And fuck, I’m undone by it.