Page 101 of Roan

“I think that can be arranged.”

LATER THAT NIGHT, we leave the hospital to allow Scarlet to get some rest. Back at the house, Roan covers my body with his, our foreheads touching. “I love you,” he breathes against my lips, entering me.

I gasp, my body alight with flames. “I love you, too.”

Tangled on top of the sheets, he pins me to the mattress. Curving his finger under my chin, my gaze finds his. His eyelashes flutter, his smile slow, his eyes burning blue. I feel bare to the world when he looks at me like this, but so incredibly alive.

When we’re finished, Roan’s face adopts a familiar cocky smirk. “Pretty sure I put a baby in you.”

I raise an eyebrow and reach for his shirt next to the bed, sliding it over my shoulders. “That confident, are you?”

“Yep.” Standing, he pulls on a pair of shorts. “Snagged the hole shot.”

“That’s weird.”

“Come on.” He motions to the door. “I’ll make you tacos.”

Tacos? That’s all I needed to hear before I jump out of the bed. “Now that’s how you get a girl pregnant.”

This guy, he might have taught me everything about love and heartache, but he didn’t teach me how to love myself. I had to learn that on my own. What he did do?

Held me up so I knew I was worth loving.

And fed me tacos.

Life seems to be moving quickly. I’ve pretty much fazed out of freestyle competition due to the risk of injury. Not that you can’t get hurt racing enduros and hare scrambles, because you can, but the need to go to the extreme and risk your life happens more often in freestyle. With the way the sport has evolved, double and even triple backflips are considered standard and if you don’t do them, well, you can forget about placing in any event.

It’s not that I can’t do them, it’s that I don’t want to anymore. I look at Ophelia and our life, and suddenly, enticing the crowd and carving my name in the history books of the most extreme didn’t seem relevant any longer.

Do you believe me?

Okay, part of that’s a lie. I want to be the best, but my focus has shifted.

My focus?

I bought a ring. You’re not shocked, are you? Didn’t think so. You probably saw that coming before I did. Or maybe you’re thinking, Jesus, it’s about time they got their shit together. And I’d probably agree with you on that one, but here’s the thing, real life doesn’t work that way. Hallmark movies and romantic comedies do. Real life, it’s messier. It takes years sometimes, and a lot of drama along the way. It’s I can’t, I’m leaving for college, I’m racing, I met someone, I… whatever, you get the point. It’s complicated and you can’t just snap your fingers and make it fall into place.

Six years after the lie that sent us down this path we are on, I know it’s time to make a change. This may sound strange, given her age at the time, but when we were in Paris, Ophelia was seventeen, and I knew I’d marry her someday. I just did. I knew Iwantedto marry Ophelia. I just didn’t know when it would happen.

And, hold your breath for this one because it may be a shocker, but, she’s… pregnant.

Only three months, but it only solidified the fact that I’m going to make her my wife. I just have to ask. Do you think she’ll say yes?

Don’t stress me out by saying no.

We’re in San Bartolo, Peru. I just finished a national hare scramble where I placed horribly after my bike overheated. We still have one more night here so I thought hell, why not do it tonight. Though I didn’t exactly plan on proposing in a hotel room, I don’t care where it happened, just that she says yes.

Holding the key card up to the reader, the green light pulses and I open the door to our room. Our clothes are strung out all over the room, along with water bottles and the bottle of Jack I drowned my sorrows in the night after failing to place in the top ten.

The second I walk through the door, steam fills the room. The bathroom door’s open a crack. I peek in the bathroom and I know something’s wrong.

There, on the shower floor, Ophelia sits, her knees pulled up to her chest, her body shaking.

I blink, trying to make sense of the scene before me. It takes me a minute to react. And then I’m mechanical in my movements. I peel my jacket off, toss it on the floor and make my way inside the bathroom.

“Honey, you okay?” I ask, noticing the towels on the floor, her clothes, all stained with blood. Panic rises in my chest. I look closer at her and notice the red stream of blood coming from between her legs. “Ophelia! What happened? Are you hurt?”

Her eyes snap to mine. She blinks, then bursts into another wave of tears. “I’m sorry,” she shakes out, squeezing her legs tighter, rocking back and forth. “I’m so sorry.”

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