Page 74 of Saving Barrette

“I do,” he tells me, pressings his lips to my forehead. “I made a promise to you that night I would always be there for you and I’m keeping it. Always. I go where you go.”

“I’m afraid,” I admit. It’s a natural reaction.

“Don’t be. You’ve changed.We’vechanged. Be proud of that. Just because we had this one setback doesn’t mean we’ve lost the play clock. It just means we have to work harder for that first down, but we still have possession of the ball.”

I lift my eyes to the glitter-glowing mason jar and smile. He’s right. We have control over our next play.

I’d love to go as far to say that I’m healed. I’m all better and it’s like it never happened. Trauma doesn’t work like that. It’s a process. A sentence never served until it’s ready to release the hold on you. Where’s my field of roses and happy ever after? Unfortunately, it’s forever tied to the ones who took it from me.

In the months following the trial, when I knew it was over, when I knew Roman and the others were finally behind bars, that’s when reality hit me. Whatwewent through. What we’d overcome. I had Asa to thank for that. He saved me. Not because he needed to, but because he wanted to.

It didn’t mean the road was easy for either of us. It came in waves, each one of us struggling to tread water at different times and leaning on one another to stay afloat.

After practice one night, he finds me on our bed, lights off, the mason jars he’d made for me over the years now filled with twinkle lights to keep them bright. I stare at them. Every single one of them a reminder of what he gave me over the years.

Hope.

Encouragement.

He begged me with quotes not to give up. Not tonight. Not ever.

Asa closes our bedroom door behind him, a soft click followed by his footsteps. I look up, tears in my eyes. “Why’d you do it?”

He gives me an apologetic look. “I know. I forgot to put the clothes in the washer again, but Terrell yelled at me for running the washing machine during ‘peak’ hours.” He flops down on the bed beside me, his hair still damp from his shower. “And then he gave me a lecture about wasting laundry soap.”

Though I want to laugh, I don’t. I do smile and curl up next to him, my hand on his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”

His eyebrows rise fractionally. “What then?” His hand runs up my back, his lips pressing to my forehead.

“Why’d you stay with me through all this? I mean, I know you love me and all that, but I gave you nothing in return.” I twist in his arms and rest my chin on his chest. He lifts his head, peering down at me. His expression is one I’ve seen countless times over the years. Love. Compassion. Devotion. It’s all there. He holds my stare, waiting, the glow from the twinkle lights casting shadows on his face.

He blinks, a soft smile pulling at his lips. He sits up and holds my face in his hands when he whispers, “Honey, love is supposed to be selfless, not selfish.”

Emotion floods through me, my eyes stinging with tears, my heart beating faster than before. His words sprinkle down on me like glittery confetti. “How’d I get so lucky to have found you in this life?”

His eyes dip to my mouth, his damp hair falling in his face. He kisses me, once, twice, a smile plastered to his lips. “I like to think we found each other.”

I fight the urge to cry. I don’t need to. Not anymore. This is our beginning.

Asa is so much more than I’ve ever given him credit for. He’s rare. He keeps his word. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t receive the same devotion in return, he just does it. And I’m going to love him as fiercely and with the same passion he’s shown me through my worst.

He pulls back and winks at me. “I’m starving.”

“There’s a pizza in the freezer we can cook.” I wink. “Then we can watch movies naked since Terrell and Joey went out for dinner.”

“I like the way you think.”

THERE’S NOTHING MOREadorable than Asa when he’s confused. His brow pulls together and he strangely resembles a pouting toddler. I just want to pinch his cheeks.

He stares at the cardboard box on the counter, and then the smoky oven. “Clearly 450 was not the right temperature. What were they thinking?”

Laughing, I wave smoke from my view and rip the batteries from the smoke detector that won’t stop. “Or you left it in too long.”

He frowns. “Well, then, that’s your fault. You distracted me when you took your shirt off.”

“I did not.” I motion to his bare chest. “You started it.”

We’re just about to start an argument, the playful kind that ends up in bed when the doorbell rings.

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