Page 122 of Lovesick

Sometimes it looks like a man with a scarred back and a rough voice whispering against your hair.

We’re still here.

We’re still fighting.

And I’m not letting go.

Six months ago, I thought I was dying.

Tonight, I feel more alive than I ever have.

“I love you, Billy Blackwell,” I tell him, my lips brushing the hollow of his throat.

“I love you more than any soul has ever loved another, Little Lamb,” he promises back.

And that’s how I drift off into sleep, with the man I will worship until my last breath whispering love into my ear, and an angel baby beside us that ultimately saved us both.