Page 155 of Three Reckless Words

And I don’t think he will.

Holden is many things, but brave is far from it.

Sure, he risked a little of his skin breaking and entering, but that was before he got caught. Before Archer knew it was him.

I don’t have time to think about anything else before he’s on me, his big hands on my face, pulling me into a kiss.

His mouth is so possessive, so demanding, and he doesn’t seem to notice there’s still snot on my face or that I’m hiccupping and crying.

But that’s fine by me.

What I really need now is a distraction, and Archer obliges.

When he’s kissing me, there’s no room to think about anything else. When he pulls me against his body, he squeezes out everything else, all the poison.

Holden, my dad, my stupid wedding, the bees.

Everything is smothered in him.

His smell, his taste, the way he holds the back of my neck. There’s this primal, jealous edge to the gesture, and I love it.

Call me sick.

I don’t care.

Even if he has no reason to be jealous. Only a total fool would choose Holden over him. It’s the difference between a little boy who’s full of himself and a man who drips life experience.

Archer’s thumbs swipe at my cheeks, wiping away the tears that keep falling as he holds me.

I can’t seem to stop them, but that’s okay.

With him, everything is fine, even when it’s not.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I force out, and he shakes his head, wiping my face with his sleeve.

“Don’t apologize, Winnie.” His voice is hard and hoarse, and he kisses me again, one arm locked against my waist. “Don’t ever apologize for him.”

“O-okay.”

I could get used to this version of Archer.

He’s normally a man of few words, but right now, he’s giving me everything I could ever want to hear with his hands, his mouth, the way his breath catches when I grab his shirt and pull him closer.

We kiss harder, until I know my lips are swollen.

By the time we come back up for air, a haze of emotion and throbbing need, Holden and his destruction are already forgotten.

He’s the past.

Archer Rory is my present.

And if I don’t have my future figured out yet, he’s part of that too.

I don’t care if we’re destined for a storybook ending or a great big nothing.

With him in my life, holding me together, I’ll survive.

“Let’s go,” he whispers so gently, brushing my messy hair back from my face.

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