Page 107 of Every Chance After

“Shit,” I breathe out in a smile. “I’m losing my edge.”

Her hands tighten around mine, and she whispers, “I won’t tell anyone.”

She pulls the pen from behind her ear and clicks it into action. She scribbles something on her page and then holds it up to me.

I, Marina Ann Strange, release my fears to the swampy void so that I might open my heart to the one who loves me as I am, not for what he imagines me to be. I let go of limiting expectations and choose limitless possibilities instead. I release those who have held me back for those who push me forward.

She takes the page down as soon as I read it, and her delicate hand curls across it once more. She holds the new addition up, smiling.

I let go of regrets over that day, and I hope Grady does, too. He saved me. Truly.

My eyes find hers as soon as her words come together, and her accepting, even loving expression assures me that she means it—and it does something to me. The man numb to feelings is overcome by them, starting with relief and ending somewhere around humble admiration.

This womanismy family.

I don’t notice the tears welling until her hand drifts to my cheek to catch one with her thumb.

“It’s okay,” she says softly.

I drag her notebook to my lap and place my page atop hers. Once again, I think ofthatday, catching her in my arms, two feathers caught in the wind, making the pen move fast across the paper.

I, Grady Macmillan Tripp, release my guilt to the swamp, where it’ll find Marina’s fears, wrap them up, and pull them into the mud where they belong. Forever.

She nods, reading my words. “I like that.”

“Me, too.” I start to fold the paper in half, done with the assignment, but she grabs it from my hands.

“Not so fast. You forgot a few things,” she tells me with a smile. “And Macmillan?”

“It’s a family name. My father’s name.”

She giggles. “Aw, that’s sweet. Can I call you Mac-Attack? Macaroni? Mac-nificent?”

“Not if you expect me to answer,” I grumble.

As she writes on my paper, I watch her—the way her high ponytail falls to her shoulder as she leans over, the tiny dimple in her cheek as she smirks at what she’s doing, hell, even the graceful movement of her fingers and the unique smattering of freckles on the outside of her palm hold my attention. I want to be one of her freckles, forever attached.

Before I register what I’m asking, the words come out. “Come to my place for dinner. Tonight.”

She peers up at me, lips spreading further as she considers it. “Oh, to the Fortress of Solitude? How intriguing.”

“I mean, if you want,” I stutter, “if you don’t have like plans… whatever… um, no pressure.”

She smiles. “I’d love to.” She holds up what she’s added to my paper. “It’s working already. See?”

I read her new words:

I, GMT, also let go of self-imposed overworking and taking responsibility for everyone else, especially at my own expense. I promise to be more careful with myself, relax and have fun, and not be afraid to spend more time with Marina.

I realize that is what I want, as if her words grant me permission. Grinning, I initial my approval beside her addition.

But as the others join us and the makeshift ceremony ensues, misgivings take over. Everything about her feels completely beyond me—the man who swore off relationships after fate proved I didn’t deserve to be in one. I don’t deserve her.

And if I get her alone, how the hell will I keep my hands off her?

So, instead of relaxing, I switch into protector mode again, protecting her from me.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE

---