Page 52 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

There is no more to be said—at least, not words to express my affection.

So, I seal his lips with a kiss, wiping the slate clean and drinking the elixir from his tongue like it’s communion wine.

There are tears and spit accruing in the canyons of our mouths, but I don’t care.

His touch is more powerful than the morphine in my veins, more lasting than the sutures in my heart.

It’s easy to fall back into the tide pools of his eyes—how they silently promise a paradise bereft of pain and suffering.

The world slows to a crawl. The heaviness of the hospital doesn’t seem so oppressive with Crew next to me.

We break away at the same time, and he leans his forehead against mine. “Promise me you won’t push yourself that hard ever again.”

I didn’t realize the stress had been eating away at me until the half-bitten chunks of my body were finally noticeable. And the bleak reason for it? Unrealistic expectations—expectations that wereset by none other than me. My own crucible.

“I just wanted to be perfect,” I whisper shakily. “The perfect daughter, the perfect student, the perfect girlfriend.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Princess, but you’re the closest fucking thing to it.

If you always strive for the unachievable, you’ll just continue to disappoint yourself.

And I’d die before I let you think, even for a split second, that you’re not good enough.

You should be proud of the effort—not just the outcome. ”

Crew celebrates my flaws as much as my strengths. He sees me for who I am rather thanjustmy achievements or capabilities. He sees an imperfect girl who’sperfectfor him. I never knew that kind of love existed beforeCrew Calloway washed up on my empty little shore .

My frown clears up. “Thank you. For reminding me that I’m more than my accomplishments.”

I scoot up a little on the bed, giving him room to curl up next to me and rest his head against my belly. He clings to my midsection like one giant, content baby, and I drag my fingers through the still-gelled strands of his hair.

Moments of silence like these are rare. Neither of us speak for what feels like forever, overwhelmed by the existence of one another. I can’t believe this man is mine. This sweet, compassionate, understanding, patient man. I don’t know what I did to deserve him.

I’m almost about to doze off when my stomach contributes to the nonexistent conversation with a prolonged whine too loud to go unnoticed, and a blush scalds my cheeks. Considering that Crew is directly over the famished beast inside me, it’s unlikely that he didn’t hear nor feel my belly growling.

Crew frowns, concern relighting in the aquatic flora of his eyes. “Jesus, Mer. Was that your stomach?”

Mortified, the truth dismounts off my tongue. “I’ve been too nauseous to eat.”

“Then it’s settled—my first duty as your official boyfriend is to get you edible food that doesn’t taste like cardboard,” he announces, jumping to his feet.

That kind of talk whips my insides into a frenzy, love reclaiming its rightful—and newly expanded—territory over the corners of my heart.

He’s so sure about everything, and coming from a long line of worriers, that’s a respite unbeknownst to the Lawsons.

If my body wasn’t as brittle as a Lofthouse cookie, I’d do a tour en l’air in the air right now.

“What do you want? Cheetos? A ham sandwich? A yogurt parfait? Maybe I should just get one of everything from the vending machine,” Crew decides without letting me answer.

He pitches forward to race out of the room, forgets to give me a goodbye kiss, then scampers over to pucker his lips against my forehead.

“Okay, love you. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

As Crew leaves, I’m expecting a period of quiet serenity, but of course, it slipped my mind that my endless list of amendments includes my rough-and-tumble father.

My dad walks into the room not a moment later. I don’t have the energy to fight with him, but I don’t have the energy to play passive daughter either. Before he gets the chance to speak, I beat him to it.

“Dad, I know you’re still upset, but please don’t take it out on Crew. If you’re mad at anyone, it should be me. I was the one who didn’t want to tell you. I was the one who was afraid of how you’d react. I hate fighting with you. I hate this—this tension . It’s killing me, and it’s killing you.”

Tears puddle on my lower lashes, and it feels like someone has taken an ice pick to the center of my chest. My relationship with my dad was strained long before Crew came into the picture.

Ever since I was forced to move back home, there’s been an imbalance of power between me and him.

It didn’t used to be that way. Fear drove him to cosset me, as fear drove me to resent him.

My father’s expression is lachrymose. “Pumpkin…”

“I know you want to protect me, and trust me, I appreciate everything you’ve sacrificed to give me a safe life…

but it’s interfering with my happiness. I feel like I can’t do anything without worrying you or Mom.

You’re so certain you’re going to lose me that you’ve prevented me from pursuing a life out of my comfort zone.

I want to be uncomfortable at times. I want to find my footing without help.

I want to dance and party and live without being ruled by my condition,” I confess, hiccups rucking in my throat as moisture begins to slather my hot-to-the-touch cheeks.

“But I don’t want to disappoint you. I never want to upset you or Mom.

I’m constantly at war with myself, and I don’t think I can take it any longer.

You have to let me go, Dad. Please. Please let me go. ”

My dad sits down on the side of my bed and engulfs me in a hug—a hug that we haven’t shared in who knows how long. His grip is crushing with a desperation that he’s never shown me before, and it exacerbates the hypoxia in my head. I feel like a little girl again clinging to her father for guidance.

“I can’t do that. You’re all I have, sweetheart. My whole world is you.”

Tears drip onto my hospital gown in slow-drying splotches, despondency riveting me to the spot. “Home shouldn’t feel like a prison,” I whisper.

His arms loosen incrementally as he detaches himself, and he cards his hand through my hair to placate me. It’s something he used to do to calm me down when I was younger.

“I never wanted it to, Merit. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize how much you were hurting.

I always wanted you to feel like you could come to me with anything.

I always wanted to be your safe place, but after the incident, I was willing to do whatever it took to protect you, even if that meant sacrificing our relationship,” he tells me.

Being this close to him, I now notice how much this whole ordeal has aged him—how a handful of new wrinkles crease his skin and exhaustion tugs at the edges of his rough features.

Remorse settles in my stomach like stones at the bottom of a lake. All we’ve been doing these past few months is hurting one another.

“I’d rather you hate me and be here than…”

“Love you and lose you,” I finish.

It’s rare to see my dad cry, but right now, it’s all he’s capable of. There’s something so polarizing about seeing a large, strong-willed man crumble to pieces.

Fat droplets distort his irises—falling even quicker than my own—carrying a year’s worth of pain that I could never comprehend. A parent’s love is one of the strongest things in this universe. If I was in my father’s shoes and my child was sick, I’d probably react out of fear too.

“Do you remember when you were little, and you were terrified of learning how to ride a bike?” he questions.

I laugh through a chest-rattling hiccup. “I was scared of getting hurt. I begged you to promise to never let me go.”

“My God, I was determined to keep that promise. And when I did eventually let go because I wanted you to see that you could do it on your own, you fell, but I was there to catch you.”

More tears obscure my vision as my composure is slowly swept away like the structural supports of a cliffside house caught in a rockslide.

I don’t remember the last time that I cried this hard.

I can’t breathe through my nose, there’s a solid lump in my throat, and dizziness sends me into a tailspin.

“Now I’m the one who’s scared,” he divulges, using his thumb to wipe up the absolute massacre on my face.

“I don’t want you to be. I’m going to be okay, Dad. I can do this on my own.”

“I know, pumpkin. I’m just…I’m not ready for you to stop needing me.”

“I’m always going to need you—that’s never going to change. But you have to have some faith in me that I won’t fall this time. And if I do, I’m capable of picking myself up again.”

He sighs, and it’s like in that single breath, all his worry dissipates into the air.

“You’re right—I haven’t let you live yet.

This move hasn’t been fair to you. There are no words that can express how sorry I am for prioritizing your physical health over your mental health. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

I embrace him when there’s finally a lull in my rainstorm of tears—one that promises everlasting light after a year of unfeeling darkness. “I know, and I’m so sorry for all the sneaking around and the lying. If I’d just been honest with you from the beginning, we wouldn’t be here.”

I can feel his hummingbird heartbeat against my own ribs.

“Then how about we make a promise to start over?” he proposes, his voice soft, quiet, reminiscent of the gentleness that he showed me during my childhood.

My father stands before me, not a villain in my story but a man hardened by grief who was pushed to take the most desperate of measures, all so he could make sure that he still had a daughter to hold on to.

“I’d really love that,” I say, squeezing him extra tight before reeling back.

The expression on his face is strangely unravelable, and his projection of guilt has anxiety throbbing inside me like an infected wound.

“I have something else to apologize for.”

What could he possibly be referring to?

I nod because I’m too afraid to speak.

“When you came to me with the idea for the fundraiser, I should’ve heard you out.

I didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself.

I was so focused on the team that I forgot about the most important relationship in my life, and I’m so ashamed of how I disregarded you.

It shouldn’t have taken Crew asking on your behalf to make me change my mind. ”

It always felt like there was a water wall separating me from my father.

I was on one side of the fog-thickened torrent—enclosed in a spot of dry land where the rest of the world fell to sightlessness—while my family was calling to me from beyond the invisible barrier.

But now, the once-interminable rain has granted me the smallest peephole.

“I didn’t expect you to apologize for that,” I admit. “But thank you.”

“It’s a little too late, but I wanted you to hear it from me. And, you know, if I had to give anyone my blessing, I’m glad it’s Crew. He’s the only person good enough for you.”

“Do you really mean that?”

My dad’s mouth matures into a smile. “I do. I see it now—the way he looks at you, the love in his eyes. It’s the way I still look at your mother after all these years. I know he’s going to do everything in his power to protect you (and not be overbearing like me).”

“I should’ve realized it when he saved me from that oncoming car,” I joke, completely forgetting that my run-in with death was another secret I kept under wraps.

Suddenly, my father’s loud voice pierces the stillness of the hospital.

“I’m sorry, he did what ?!”