Page 25 of Write Me For You

“Ditto,” I said in lieu of a better response. I didn’t think I’d able to say them even if I’d had them. A few moments later, I said, “You’re not giving up on me are you, Junebug? These things you’re saying seem kind of final.”

She shook her head. “Never, but I’m done with holding things back.

If I want to say something to someone, I’m going to.

” Meeting my gaze head-on, June confessed, “I’ve fallen for you, Jesse Taylor.

Hook, line, and sinker. And I know I will continue to fall for you even more.

The way I feel for you…could be endless. ”

“Junebug…” I murmured, giving myself time to let her words penetrate. I ran my hands up her back, then cupped both her cheeks. Making sure I had her full attention, I said, “I am irresistible. A total fucking snack .”

June burst out laughing, and I couldn’t resist kissing her lips.

I pulled her in, and she quickly parted her mouth.

I kissed her deeper. I didn’t know if it was the news we’d received today, or the sharing of our ever-growing feelings, but this kiss felt different.

It was all-consuming and wrapped in love.

June mirrored my hands and put her palms on my cheeks.

She kissed me back like there was no tomorrow.

When we broke away, she smiled at me, and it shattered my heart.

She was so beautiful. I kissed her one more time, and when she leaned her chin on her hand, watching me, I said, “I’m damn glad your dad didn’t see that kiss.

He’d have been after me with his shotgun.

My ten percent chance would have dropped to zero. ”

June threw her head back and laughed harder than before. Every laugh from her lips was a shot of tonic I so desperately needed. We had to live. Both of us. I could entertain no other outcome.

Something caught June’s attention across the room. “You didn’t have your football with you at the stables today.” She pointed to where it sat on the chair in the corner, then turned to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it.”

“I don’t remember the last time I didn’t have it in my hands,” I replied.

It seemed like she was trying to read my face, so I said, “When I realized you hadn’t gone back to the rec room, I went out searching for you.

” I ran my hand down my face. “I didn’t even know I’d left it behind until I came back to my room and I saw it on the chair.

” My stomach turned with nerves as I said, “My goal has always been football. Getting to UT, the NFL et cetera.” I glanced at the football, then concentrated back on June.

Her brown eyes were wide as she waited for me to go on.

“Today, I knew something had happened to you. In that moment, for once, I didn’t even think about my football not being in my hands. And I came to realize something else.”

“What?” June whispered.

“That my main goal is no longer football.”

June took in a deep breath.

“Instead…it’s you . Being with you. Surviving this with you.”

“Jesse,” she said, eyes shining and laid her head on my chest.

I was sure she could hear the beat of my racing heart.

But it was true. Football had paled in significance today when June hadn’t returned to me with a smile on her face.

I had felt in my soul that she had been given the same news as me.

We were strangely linked that way. We mirrored one another, and that meant I had to keep strong—not just for me but for June too.

I wanted a shot at our forever.

That made my attention go to June’s notebook. “Have you written any more of your story?” I asked. June stiffened on top of me. “June?”

She lifted her head, resting her chin on her hands again. I ran my hands over her head, her cheeks. Hell, this girl had me completely under her thumb. “I don’t think I’ll continue with it,” she said, shocking me to the core.

June had come alive writing our happily ever after.

Fulfilling her passion had made her glow.

As much as the ranch was a nice hospital, a happy place, death always hovered close, and falling back into depression’s waiting hands was only one piece of bad news away. Her writing had given her a purpose.

Reading the story of us making it through…it had given me hope.

“Why?” I asked carefully.

Sorrow filled June’s eyes. “It feels like too much,” she said, “writing our happily ever when we’re here, just scraping by.”

“That’s exactly why you do need to keep going,” I said, and she fixed her eyes on me. “Give us the story we should have, Junebug.”

“But what if…” She drifted off, and a tear escaped her eye. What if we don’t make it? she meant.

“Then we live within the pages.”

June’s lips twitched at that. She liked how that sounded as much as me.

“Anyway, I have this theory,” I added casually, trying to lighten the mood.

The grin June had been fighting began to win out. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” she said, sass in her Texan twang.

I narrowed my eyes. “Junebug, jocks can have good ideas too.” She rolled her eyes. “What if the Jesse and June in your book are out there, in a parallel universe, waiting for you to breathe life into their story.”

June’s head tilted to the side. She was intrigued, I could tell.

“What if the June in that world is writing a book too, only in that version, her story is the you and me of this world —us here, on the ranch, clutching our ten percent with both hands.”

“A parallel universe? Look at you pulling out the big guns,” June joked, but there was interest in her expression. I could almost hear her mind ticking with excitement.

I took one of her hands in my own. “I want us to live, June. If the only way we get to do that in the end is in your book, then at least I’ll have the comfort that somewhere, out there, in a parallel universe, we are really making a go of it.

And that even though life has roughed us up a bit, we’ve turned it around and made it our bitch . ”

June dropped her head forward and giggled at my word choice.

But she understood the sentiment. I knew she did.

Her body had relaxed against mine. When she lifted her head, she said, “I like that, the idea that my words, my story— our story—is just the narration to an already-existing life in another world.”

Excitement built within me. The spark writing brought to her soul was magnetizing. I kissed her fingers, just needing to be close. “What is your dream with writing, Junebug?”

Her eyes lost focus as she thought through her answer. When she met my gaze again, a small smile on her lips, she whispered, “I want to leave my fingerprint on the window of the world.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling those words hit me. “That’s beautiful. I’m not sure I have that type of depth or the capacity to have that effect on anyone.” She was incredible. How could she ever doubt why I loved her?

“Jesse, you have a deep soul, full of love and kindness. Your art leaves everyone who sees it speechless.” June kissed my hand this time.

Looking me dead in the eye, she said, “And you make me happy. Truly happy.” Her eyes shined.

“I’m quite literally dying, yet you make me feel so ridiculously alive.

That is who you are. And that , Jesse, is gift from God. ”

My throat clogged at her words. I made her happy. I didn’t think there was an accolade in life that was greater than that.

I hooked my hands under June’s arms and lifted her to me. I kicked back the comforter, placed her beside me, covered us back up, and dimmed the lights. We just stared at one another, holding each other’s hands.

“If I die,” I whispered a while later, “I want to go just like this—with you next to me, holding my hand.” June’s lips trembled.

But she nodded, making me that silent promise.

“Write our story, Junebug. Let our parallel-universe selves live the best lives they can. We deserve to have our happily ever after, even if it’s in another life. ”

“I will,” she whispered, then her beautiful, brown eyes began to drift close. “I love you so much. Good night, Junebug.”

“I love you too, Jesse. Sleep tight,” she murmured, half asleep.

I closed my eyes too, content in knowing that I had at least several weeks left with the girl I had fallen madly in love with.