Page 40

Forty

Luna

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he says quietly, smoothing back my hair, sounding completely befuddled.

And I get why.

Because I’ve lost my mind.

Despite everything, I still want to clamp my hand over my mouth, to smother those words.

The curse is…well, it’s going to wreak havoc on this moment and ruin my life with Aiden and I’ll be alone and sad and?—

Just stop being so fucking afraid.

Just cut the bullshit.

Just accept the truth I know in my heart.

Of course there’s no curse.

There’s tragedy and there’s life and there’s happiness and there are beautiful moments punctuated by sadness and grief and love .

So much damned love that it seems to grow by the moment.

And God?—

What have I learned since I knocked on Aiden’s door? That there’s so much more to be gained by living than sitting on the sidelines and hiding from real connection.

Plus, who am I kidding?

Even when I felt alone, I still had Grams and her house, Bri and my job at the shelter, and the moment I saw Aiden on TV, I did everything in my power to search him out.

To tie myself to him.

And Kathy and Matt and Smitty and the others.

I could have walked away from Smythe, could have sold Grams’s house and started a simple life over somewhere else. I could have contented myself with doing something good that I could accomplish on my own.

But…as Grams knew, I wouldn’t walk away.

I would fight.

I would find a way.

Like she had. Like my mom had. Like every woman in my family had.

I always thought the endings were a tragedy, that damned curse was a millstone I couldn’t shed, but the real tragedy was thinking that a life well-lived isn’t worth it just because the ending didn’t turn out as planned.

It was easier to think that I didn’t deserve a happy ending.

Wasn’t worthy of it because?—

Why?

My family’s curse?

My father’s words?

My brother’s bullying?

Or fear and my own insecurities?

Because Aiden…he’s different.

He’s mine .

Maybe this marriage won’t work out, maybe I’ll end up alone in a year or five or ten, but I’m not going to let this gift go—not going to squander the gift of him , of living a life that’s bright and exciting, vast and challenging, just because I’m scared to fail, scared to be hurt, scared to be alone.

When I was learning to skate, I was afraid to fall.

But I pushed through the bruised knees to excel.

When I was learning to jump, I worried about the landings.

But what I remember the most now is the exultation of completing my first axel.

When I was falling for Aiden as a teenager, I feared I’d hold him back from his dreams.

But the moment I saw him again on TV I was so damned proud of all he accomplished.

When I was caring for Grams, I was scared that every moment with her would be the last.

But each story, each hug, each time I held her hand was a gift.

And when I lost her, almost lost her house, thought that my program at Smythe would never happen…I wasn’t fearful.

Instead, I was determined.

To make her memory count.

To figure out how to keep her house.

To find a way to gain control of those shares and make my program happen.

Determined enough to track Aiden down and marry him.

And with all that determination under my belt, me keeping him at a distance—physical or emotional or otherwise—in order to keep my heart safe, barely even crossed my mind.

Because he’s Aiden.

The man holding me tightly in his arms and laughing with me over hot chocolate.

The man coming to my rescue and consistently putting himself between me and my father, my brother.

The man who kissed me gently and passionately in equal measure, who learned my body and has never failed to put my pleasure first. The man who brought me a karaoke-loving hockey player and a pair of billionaires with golden hearts…

and the man who’s holding me again now, his eyes gentle and patient.

Waiting for me to look at him.

To talk to him.

He touches the backs of his knuckles to my cheek. “You love me?”

I nod and give him this gift, this piece of me, knowing he needs it, knowing its beauty is what brings us closer together. Not because I’m trying to pay him back or make up for him helping me…

Because our love isn’t a barter system.

It’s unquantifiable…and the best freaking feeling in the world.

So, how can I deny him that?

“I think I’ve loved you from the first time we shared a pretzel together at the rink,” I say, covering his hand with mine, soul swelling with joy when he smiles at the memory.

“Because I gave you the bigger half?” he teases.

“Because that was when you first showed me your heart.” I settle my hand over his chest. “Showed me how pure and good it is.”

“Luns,” he murmurs, face going serious. “I’ve been wanting to tell you I love you since you walked back into my life.”

My pulse speeds, but it’s not relief I’m feeling.

I already know he loves me—because he’s done nothing but show that love to me, over and over again.

“I know you do,” I tell him softly.

His expression is gentle as his fingers flex on my cheek. “I love you, my tiny tornado. You clear all the unnecessary nonsense out of my life and leave nothing but clear blue skies in your wake.”

“I love you .” I shift closer. “And this big, beautiful heart that lets you take a chance on a woman who brings storm clouds and thunderstorms into your life that you manage to ward off without even an umbrella.”

His green eyes swim with emotion.

And I’m staring at him through watery lenses too. But I don’t want to cry. I want to celebrate and I want to drink hot cocoa and I want to fall into bed with this man and kiss every inch of his body.

So, I don’t let the tears fall.

Instead, I take his hand, draw him over to the stool, and I say, “And now I think we’ve surpassed our weather analogies for the night, don’t you?”

He grins, draws me into the vee of his legs. “I never know what you’re going to say, Luns.” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “And that’s one of the many, many things I love about you, sweetheart.”

“It’s Hot chocolate time,” I whisper, mostly so I don’t cry.

“That’ll come later,” he says, rising to his feet at the same time as he hefts me up, tossing me over his shoulder. “First, I want to kiss my woman.”

“Kind of hard to kiss me in this position,” I tell him…or rather, I tell his lush, yummy, bounce-a-quarter-off-of hockey player’s ass.

He laughs but keeps pounding up the stairs. “I don’t want to kiss your lips. Or at least not those ones,” he says with a wicked grin. Something I see because he’s hefted me again, dropping me onto the mattress and climbing over the top of me.

“Funny,” I say, reaching for the waistband of my pants, “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

A searing look as he starts to strip me naked. “That’s why you’re perfect,” he murmurs. “And mine.” He yanks off my pants, nips at the indent of my waist. “And also why I’m never letting you go.”

He kisses me, long and slow and deep…and eventually, on both sets of lips. Heh.

But through that gloriousness, I manage to say what’s in my heart too.

“Because I give you blow jobs?” I tease him breathlessly as guides me through an orgasm, quickly starts sending me up the edge for another.

He pauses, head lifting, eyes coming to mine.

And I get the best gift of all.

His laughter…

And then the redoubled efforts of his supremely skilled tongue.

“Later, tiny tornado. The blow job can come later.”