Page 46

CHAPTER 46

EMILY

I turn in Dallas’s arms, looking up at him and offering him an indulgent eyeroll. “So what? You thought you’d just march over here and claim me like some caveman?”

He flashes me that dimpled, quintessentially Dallas grin. “Fuck yeah.”

I playfully smack his chest, and he wraps his arms around me a little tighter.

“Nah, I’m just playin’ with you, baby. But when I looked over here and saw you having the time of your life, I don’t know…” He shrugs one of his broad shoulders, his smile lingering as the look in his eyes turns a little more serious. “I wanted to have the time of your life with you.”

My heart stammers in my chest, and I know I’m a little tipsy—three lemon drops in quick succession will do that to you—but right now with the way he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the world, his bright green eyes illuminated beneath the dim lights, nearly iridescent, with the song playing like our own personal soundtrack, Dallas takes my breath away.

“I love you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“I love you, Goldie,” Dallas responds without hesitation, leaning down and pressing his lips to my forehead. “So damn much.”

I rest my head against his chest, allowing the music and the steady thrum of his heart to lull me into a state of bliss where it feels like I’m floating. But the problem with floating is, eventually, you always return to the ground, and oftentimes you fall, hard. And, as if I’ve suddenly crashed, an overwhelming heaviness settles over me. Things are too good. Something’s gotta give.

“What’s wrong?”

I look up again to find Dallas’s gaze blazing and intense, a slight crease etched between his eyebrows. How does he know?

“I felt you go tense just now,” he says as if to answer my thoughts. “What is it, Goldie?”

I know this is hardly the right place or time, but that’s the thing about cancer; just like the illness, it can lay dormant for so long that you momentarily feel like you’ve been set free, and then suddenly and completely out of nowhere, the fear returns, and it’s invasive.

“What’s going to happen when—” I stop myself, swallowing hard as my subconscious chides me. “ If … I get sick again?”

Dallas searches my eyes, that crease in his brow burrowing even deeper.

“There’s a… real chance, it could come back,” I continue tentatively, not wanting to get into the stats, but the possibility is unfortunately very high given my age at diagnosis, the type and grade of cancer. It’s always in the back of my mind that I could face recurrence or even a secondary cancer, and now that Dallas and I are… Dallas and I , then he needs to know this too.

Dallas ducks down so he’s at my eye-level, his gaze hard and intense.

“When I told you that I’ve got you, Goldie, I meant it,” he says, voice low and gruff, his words only for me. “You are my girl in every possible way. And if you fall, then I’ll be right there to pick you up and carry you. ”

Pesky tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I swallow the emotion, nodding once.

Dallas reaches up a hand, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. “If you’re sick, or sad, or scared, I’ll be right there by your side. Even when you try to push me away, because I know you will.” He offers me a wry smile. “I’ll still be there. I’m a persistent son of a bitch; you should know that by now, Goldie.”

My lips turn up at the corners as Dallas trails the pad of his thumb over the curve of my cheek.

“You’ve got me, baby,” he says with finality, taking my hand in his and placing it over his chest, his heart. “Me and my heart.”

Of course, there is still so much more to talk about. One day I want to have a baby. But Dallas is only twenty-six, and I’m thirty-five, so for me, that day is going to need to be sooner than later. But I’m still in medical menopause. What if I can’t have children? Yes, I froze my eggs, but what if that’s not enough? What then? What if Dallas desperately wants children? Or what if he doesn’t? These are the conversations we need to have.

“I’m gonna need you to get out of that pretty little head of yours, baby,” Dallas whispers with a dimpled grin, pressing a kiss to my temple as we continue swaying to the music. “I love you.” He searches my eyes. “We can handle everything else if and when we need to.”

I stare up at him in disbelief. Sometimes, I’m so sure he can read my mind. It’s almost scary. But he’s right. I smile, reaching up on my tip toes to meet his lips with a slow, soft kiss that feels more meaningful than all of the kisses we’ve ever shared. I love this man. With everything I have. And despite what the scorned believe, maybe love is enough.

“Oh, my God, Dal, turn it up!” Millie squeals from the back seat of the truck.

I hear Dallas groan, and I glance at him to see that he’s barely holding himself together. Millie is drunk. In fact, Millie is more than drunk. She’s wasted. I wanted to sober up after the three lemon drop shots went to my head a little too quickly, so I stuck to iced water and dancing with my man who, for the record, cannot dance to save himself. Dallas just had the one beer. But Millie? Well, Millie had more than anyone. She was out for a good night, and boy did she have one.

With a sigh, Dallas turns up the music—Taylor Swift, of course—and as Millie sings her drunken heart out, I bite back my smile, reaching over and placing my hand on Dallas’s thigh. His eyes flit to me, and I see his shoulders relax some, his hand coming to cover mine, as he navigates the country road.

Suddenly, Siri’s robotic voice interrupts Taylor Swift, startling us all. “ One new message from Loser… I can’t stop thinking about you. Please. Please, just give me a chance. End of message. Would you like to reply ?”

As Taylor starts back up, my brow furrows as I glance at the screen in the dash, tension filling the cab of the truck. Slowly, I turn to Dallas to see him also looking at the dash, his own brows knitted together as his gaze flits to me.

“Loser?” I question, quirking a brow.

“Wait!” He gapes at me, face suddenly stark. “What? No. I-I have no idea, I-I don’t?—”

Millie mutters unintelligibly from the back, and I glance over my shoulder finding her frantically tapping into her phone, face illuminated by the glow of the screen and fraught with panic. “How do I disconnect my stupid phone from the stupid Bluetooth?”

“ One new message from Loser ,” Siri pipes up again.

“Shut up!” Millie cries out.

At the realization that it’s Millie’s phone and not Dallas’s, I can see Millie needs my help, and I lurch forward and press the button to turn off the audio, a sudden and awkward silence settling heavily through the truck.

“So…” Dallas says after a moment, his tone almost teasing as he glances in the rearview mirror at his sister. “Who’s Loser, huh?”

“Oh, my God, shut up,” Millie murmurs.

Dallas chuckles and I squeeze his thigh, silently telling him to stop. He flashes me a conspiratorial wink as he says, “Does big brother have to come up to Ann Arbor and kick some college kid’s ass?”

Millie scoffs but says nothing, and Dallas snickers, and all I can do is roll my eyes because he’s really living up to the annoying and slightly over protective big brother stereotype I never had to deal with. Thankfully, he lets it go and presses a button on the steering wheel, and I relax back into my seat as the sound of some generic rock radio station snuffs out the silence and we continue driving through the darkness.