Page 146 of The Convict Gets His Girl

"I—I wanted someone to see me for me," Jewel whispered, her voice trembling. Her fingers splayed against his skin. "I was so scared about going to college by myself, so scared of leaving all I'd known behind. I didn't know how to talk about it, and it made me reckless."

Chase could feel the vibration of vulnerability in her words. He knew that feeling—that terrifying moment when the familiar world drops away and all you have is yourself.

"Scared and lonely," she continued, her voice catching. The steam from the shower wrapped around them like a cocoon, making her words feel more intimate, rawer. "And—and when I saw your hat in the farm truck outside, I knew it was you and not Hunter."

Something inside Chase broke open. Not with anger. Not with triumph. But with a profound understanding that ran deeper than any emotion he'd ever known.

Her hand began moving again, soap trailing between his shoulder blades. Each circular motion felt like she was washing away something—fear, distance, the years of separation.

He wanted to turn. To see her face. To understand the exact moment that she chose him.

But he remained still, letting her tell the story her way. Letting her reclaim her own narrative, one touch at a time. Hope filled him… maybe she did love him back.

"I was always waiting," Jewel whispered, her voice barely audible over the shower's white noise. "Always watching. Even when I pretended not to see you."

Her fingers traced a scar on his lower back—a thin, jagged line he'd gotten years ago during a fence repair. She knew its story without him saying a word. That was the thing about Jewel. She saw everything.

"When you went to prison," she continued, her voice cracking, "I wrote you letters nobody knows about. Forty-seven of them. Never sent a single one. I'm not good at saying what I feel, but I'm learning. I want to be better, teach Destini to be better."

He licked his peeling lips, his head resting against the tile, palms flat. "What do you feel?"

It seemed like the entire universe hung on her next words.

* * *

Jewel's fingers gently washed the peeling skin, her chest tight.

Her voice was soft, wavering. "When Ana called and told me about the barn, all I could think was—not him. Not Chase." Her fingers pressed slightly harder, but he didn't flinch. "I'm mad that you went in there without even a thought to Destini or I."

Chase spun and gathered her in his arms, and she gasped as he buried his head in her neck. "Never think for a moment that I don't think about you and Destini. Every single thing I do is for you. If I had died in that barn, at least it would've been doing something y'all would've been proud of."

Her fingers gripped the back of his neck, nails digging slightly into his damp skin. "Don't you dare talk like that," she whispered fiercely. "Don't you dare minimize your life like it's something disposable. You're not just some ex-con who got lucky. You're a man who saves people. Who saves me. Who saves Destini and Raul and all the other countless people you help without saying a word. Hell, half the time, none of us even say thank you."

His hands wrapped around her waist. Pressed tight from knee to chest, she gently stroked his back as he shook.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'm sorry for not telling you how scared I was all those years ago. I'm sorry for not talking with you at spring break, for not sending the letters, for not calling while you were in prison. But thank you for not giving up on me."

"Never," he growled, deeper than usual because of the smoke.

Her hands moved, tracing the fresh burns on his forearms, the new scars that marked his rescue. Each touch was a benediction, a claim. This was her man, her—boyfriend?

"And you're not going to risk your life anymore, right? You don't get to decide your worth by risking your life. Promise me."

He stiffened, then his arms tightened. "Never again."

"You're a survivor, a fighter, a thorny rose that will bloom in the worst of conditions."

He snorted a laugh, and she leaned back, her hands going up to his biceps until she caught his bloodshot gaze.

"A thorny rose," Chase repeated, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "That's a hell of a description."

Jewel's fingers traced the edge of a fresh burn on his forearm, her touch featherlight. "You're not allowed to die on me, you hear me? Not now. Never."

The steam continued to curl around them, a gossamer veil of intimacy. Chase's hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks. Water droplets traced paths down his forearms, leaving glistening trails on her skin.

"I hear you," he said softly.

Their foreheads touched. Not a kiss. Something deeper. A promise. A connection that transcended words, that spoke of years of unspoken longing, of near misses and complicated history.

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