Page 68 of Give Me Strength

“You have a jet?” I blurt out.

“We own three private jet charter companies.” He gently lifts my chin, making me look at him. “What’s really bothering you? And don’t say the distance, because we both know that’s not it.”

Even though he looks calm and composed, I can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he fights to keep his emotions in check. He’s always been the strong one, the rational one. But I can see the cracks forming, the pain he tries so hard to hide.

And it matches my own.

“What if I’m not good enough?” I try, even though I’m not even sure I believe it myself. “And what if I don’t fit in? People already think I’m weird and eccentric.”

“You are more than good enough,” he says, his voice gentle but firmly. “You are exceptional. You wouldn’t have been accepted if you weren’t. You know that. Now, what’s this really about?”

“You,” I eventually admit, my voice trembling. “I’m afraid of what this will do to us.”

His brow furrows, and he blows out a frustrated breath. “This is your future, your career. You have to go. You can’t let fear dictate your choices.”

His words, though logical, are like a knife to my heart. I swallow hard, tears welling up I my eyes. “It’s not fear. It’s…”

“You’ve dreamed of this your whole life.” He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them, his gaze piercing. “This is your chance to shine, to chase your dreams no matter where it leads you. I can’t be the reason you don’t, and I could never forgive myself if I held you back.”

I look away, unable to face his piercing gaze. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He is silent for a beat, and when he speaks, his voice is softer. “Who says you’ll be leaving me?”

“We’ll be on opposite ends of the country.”

He cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle and reassuring as he thumbs away my tears. “So?”

I let out a bitter laugh, my eyes meeting his. “Gilbert, your life, your practice, this house,” at his raised brow, I quickly amend, “our house, it’s all here in Chicago. It’s not so simple for you to just pick up and follow me.”

He sighs, then leans in to press his lips to my forehead in a chaste kiss. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. With a few taps, he brings up the video of me dancing at the graveyard, the one Wynter filmed at Dad’s funeral months ago.

“Where did you get that?”

“I asked Wynter to send it to me.”

He holds it out to me, the screen glowing with the image of me dancing. I watch as my past self moves gracefully across the screen, each step filled with passion and purpose. Tears blur my vision as I remember the exhilaration of that moment.

“You deserve to be on that stage,” he says, as if it’s that simple. His smile is sad, as he brushes a tear from my cheek. “It’s what you dreamed of all your life, so don’t turn it down because of me. Ashlynn Crane belongs on that stage. You lead, I follow. Wherever life takes you, it takes me too. I will follow you to the very ends of the earth.”

He makes it sound so simple, and I want to believe him. The thing is, I’m not naive, and life isn’t so black and white. We live in hues of grays, and anything could change at a moment’s notice. The work that Gilbert does is too important for him to sacrifice and follow me around the world. Besides, who’s to say if he gets a call today, he won’t pick up and leave without so much as a second thought?

Dad had no problems doing so, and I was his own flesh and blood. To Gilbert, I’m just a girlfriend. If I can even call myself that.

“Of course you’re my girlfriend,” he says, his voice filled with conviction. “What else would you be?”

I look up at him, tears still blurring my vision. “I…”

“Unless you prefer partner. Or fiancée. Or wife—” His gaze darkens, and he cups my chin and kisses me, long and hard. “Labels are labels. We are what we are.” Another passionate kiss. “I’m yours, Ash. Yours.” Another brain-scrambling kiss that turns my body to putty in his hands.

Then, Gilbert scoots off the bed, wraps his fingers around my ankle and pulls my body to his. “Let’s continue this conversation downstairs,” he says, as he scoops my body off the bed. “Melissa threatened to quit if we aren’t in the dining room in ten minutes.”

28

GILBERT

I wake up in the middle of the night the room shrouded in darkness. For a moment, I’m disoriented, reaching out instinctively to the other side of the bed. The familiar warmth that should be on her side is noticeably absent, like she’s been gone for sometime. The faint red light of her phone is illuminated against the side table, letting me know it’s still plugged in and charging.

I sit up, running a hand through my hair. The room is silent, save for the faint sound of the wind rustling the trees outside. The clock says 2 A.M. There’s only one place she could be at this hour. The only place she’d venture to without her phone.

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