Page 126 of Not Made to Last

“Like I wouldn’t live up to the image you had of me in your head.”

“You forget I knew who you were, Rhys. I knew who you were through that phone, and I knew who you were to the rest of the world. I knew how your mom saw you, and your peers, your teammates… yourenemies. That wasn’t the problem…”

Rhys inhales a sharp breath, lets it out in a sigh. “So, what was it?”

“Me,” I admit, focusing on my lap. “I was scared that I didn’t live up to your expectations of me. OfMercedes.”

“Babe…” he says, laughing once, but then he must notice my discomfort, my insecurities, because he puts his arm around me, pulling me closer. Finger to my chin, he guides my head up. He’s a blur beyond my tears, and he waits until they fall before wiping them away.

“I was so guarded when you met me, for obvious reasons, but I was also a realist. I had come to terms with being alone. At least for a while. I mean, who would want to be with a girl in my position? At the minimum, I’m going to be sharing the responsibility of raising Max until he’s eighteen, and that doesn’t?—”

“Matter,” Rhys cuts in. “At least to me.”

I sniff back my emotions. “I didn’t know that then.”

“But you know it now, right?”

I nod, certain. “I do.”

He kisses me—the type that clears my mind, dries my eyes of the tears that had been living there. The type of kiss that steals my breath and renders me speechless.

His thumbs stroke my cheeks when he pulls away, and he smiles, his eyes bright against the overhead lights. The same lights that cast a shadow across his features, highlighting thetiny scars on his face. I press my mouth to the one on his lips. Just once. Just so he knows that I love every part of him—scars and all. “I love you,” I tell him.

“I love you, too,” he says, then releases me to sit all the way back in his chair, getting comfortable as he stares ahead.

I rest my head on his shoulder and let minutes of silence pass before my curiosity gets the best of me. “Rhys?”

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing here?”

He eyes me sideways, his smile restrained. “Check under your chair, Cheeks.”

I hesitate a beat, confused, then do as he says.

Taped to the underside of my chair is a rectangle package wrapped in brown paper. It’s obviously a book, but?—

“You can unwrap it,” he says, but I just hold it instead.

“How did you even?—”

“Unwrap it, Cheeks.”

Again, I do as he says.

It’s a copy ofThe Count of Monte Cristo, but… it’s not any of the ones I’ve seen on his shelf before. This one is a small format paperback, so worn that it may as well live in an under-funded public library. I run my fingers over the cover, then the spine—so faded from being open and closed too many times. There’s a stain on the top, a dark brown, and my eyes immediately go to his. “Is this…”

Rhys nods. “It’s the one Curtis gave me when I was in juvie,” he confirms. “They let me take it with me when I left.”

“Rhys…”

“Besides Curtis, it’s the only thing that saved me while I was in there. And it’s only fitting that you have it, considering you’re the only thing that saved me once I was out.”

Tears fill my eyes again, overflow and land on the book in my possession.

“It’s bookmarked,” he tells me, and I flip the book up to see where it’s marked. Slowly, carefully, I open the pages, already expecting what quote he’s marked.

I gasp.

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