Page 183 of Lost Lyrebird

Placing his forehead on mine, he shakes his head.“You have no idea how much that makes me want to walk right the fuck outta here.”His hand slides down to my ass, gripping me tightly as he pulls me against him, grinding against me.I gasp, the heat between us building to an unbearable level.I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, one more touch, one more kiss, could send me over the edge.And God, I want to fall.But tempting him further will only make it harder for both of us to stop.

Patting his chest, I take one small step back and smile, trying to ease the tension.“Soon,” I promise, my voice a low whisper.The weight of that word hangs between us—it’s filled with everything we want but can’t have just yet.“As soon as you get out of here.”

He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, like he’s trying to rein in the urge swirling between us.His hand slides between us so he can adjust himself, as his brow furrows in frustration.

“Four more weeks sounds like an eternity all of a sudden,” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips despite the heat in his voice.

“You can do it,” I say, softer now, with more certainty.I’m trying to be the strong one, but it’s hard.I’m just as wound up, just as desperate for him.But we have to hold out.There’s too much at stake.

He nods, exhaling a long breath.The heat in his gaze simmers just beneath the surface, but it also holds something softer now, too.Gratitude.Resolve.

I grab his hand and brush my thumb over the back of it, grounding both of us in the quiet that’s settled around us.“Come on,” I whisper, tugging his hand, guiding him over to the bench a few feet away.The cool fall air helps to soothe some of the heat we stirred up, as does the distracting view of the sunset, which is still painted in shades of azure, amber, and orange.

“I brought you something,” I tell him as I make him take a seat.

He tries to pull me down beside him, but I say, “You’ll see.I have to go get it.I left it in your room.I’ll be right back.”I sense his gaze, the weight of it like an anchor, grounding me, even when I step inside the building.

I grab the box from his bed and carry it back out.It’s a little worn now, the edges fraying from the years it’s seen, but it’s sturdy enough to hold the collection of his old journals and the letters I’ve written him, the ones I could never send.It holds pieces of both of us—our pasts, our memories, everything that’s brought us together to begin with.

When I return, curiosity flickers in his eyes as I place the box in front of him on the ground.He immediately runs his hand over the barely sealed top, fingers tracing the edges of the cardboard as if he knows what it contains.

“What’s in here?”

I sit beside him, close enough that our arms rest against one another.“Your old journals,” I say softly.“And… some letters I wrote you.”I feel my cheeks warm as I say it.The vulnerability in that admission hangs in the air, a confession of everything I’ve held back for so long.

He looks at the box for a long moment, as if it’s heavier than it really is.When he finally opens it, his hands tremble just a little, the emotion already building before he’s even seen what’s inside.

“If you’re not ready to do this now, you can wait,” I tell him.“And I don’t mean that in the way it sounds.I just mean, this is heavy.I understand if now’s not the time, especially with the surgery looming.”

He palms my thigh and squeezes it.“I’m okay, Lil’.This is what I’ve wanted for so long.I’m not gonna shy away from it now.”

I move in closer and lean over a bit to point to the journals.“They are in chronological order if you want to start with the earliest one.I also labeled and dated them so you have a bit of a trigger warning in case you need it.”

He chuckles low, throws his arm around me, pulls me close to his side, and places a kiss on my head.

“Thanks, baby.It means a lot that you’re doin’ this.”

Drawing his arm back, he pulls out the first journal.It’s old, the leather worn from years of use.He runs his thumb over the cover, his eyes distant for a moment, as if just touching it pulls him back to another time.

“I used to write in these every night,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, like he’s remembering things that hurt to say out loud.

“I know,” I lean into him, offering him the comfort of my presence as he begins to flip through the pages.The words are his, but the weight of them feels shared.He reads in silence for a while, his brow furrowing as he skims old entries about his dad, about the moments that shaped him into the man he is today.The rawness of his past lay bare on the page between us.

He lays his hand on my leg and squeezes.“I’ll take more time and go through these later, but I can’t tell you what these mean to me.Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He leans down, plucks one of the letters from the box.One of my letters.His hand lovingly caresses the paper.He looks over at me, his eyes glassy.For the first time, I see the cracks beneath his strength.He unfolds the letter, fingers tracing the ink like he’s trying to understand the weight of the words written there.

He starts reading, his voice low and rough as he recites my words.I slide my hand onto his back and run my palm back and forth.There’s a tremor in his voice, revealing how much this moment is costing him.His eyes flick over the lines, taking in every word, his breath catching as he reads my thoughts from years ago—my confusion, my pain, my longing for him.

It’s all there.Everything I never had the courage to say.

The ending is what kind of guts us both.

I trusted you.When you promised me the world, I believed you.I fell so hard and so fast and thought you were going to be the one man in my life who wouldn’t let me down.

That all feels like wishful thinking now.