Page 28 of Ruined Roses
I can't read the rest, my vision swimming with sudden tears. I make a sound—half laugh, half sob—that brings Ian immediately to my side.
"Claire? What is it?" His voice is sharp with concern, his hand warm on my shoulder.
I wordlessly hand him my phone, unable to form the words past the lump in my throat. He reads quickly, his expression shifting from worry to understanding to something like pride.
"You did it," he says softly, setting the phone down and pulling me to my feet. "You got in."
I nod, still struggling to process the reality of it. "I got in."
He wraps his arms around me, lifting me off the ground in a rare display of unrestrained emotion. I cling to him, burying my face in his neck as tears spill down my cheeks—tears of relief, of vindication, of pure, unadulterated joy.
"I knew you would," he murmurs against my hair. "Never doubted it for a second."
When he sets me down, his hands come up to frame my face, thumbs gently wiping away my tears. The tenderness in his touch undoes me all over again.
"I couldn't have done it without you," I say, leaning into his touch. "Without the job, the apartment, the time to study..."
"Bullshit." His voice is firm, brooking no argument. "You did this, Claire. All of it. You're the one who never gave up, who kept fighting when anyone else would have broken."
The conviction in his voice makes fresh tears spring to my eyes. "I don't know what happens now," I admit. "Medical school is... it's going to consume my life for the next four years."
"So we'll make it work." He says it simply, as if the solution is obvious. "You'll study. I'll make sure you eat and sleep occasionally. Blackwood will understand."
"And us?" I ask, the question that's been hovering unspoken between us for weeks finally finding voice. "What happens to us?"
Something shifts in his expression—the guarded look he usually wears falling away to reveal a vulnerability that steals my breath. "What do you want to happen?"
It's a loaded question, one that demands honesty I'm not sure I'm ready to give. But looking up at him—this man who has seen me at my worst and still looks at me like I'm something precious—I find I can't be anything but truthful.
"I want this," I say softly. "Us. I want to come home to you after class, to fall asleep beside you, to make something real together. I know it won't be easy, with my schedule and your... job. But I want to try."
The tension leaves his shoulders, a smile—rare and genuine—curving his lips. "That's what I want too."
He leans down, capturing my mouth in a kiss that's gentle at first, then deepens into something more urgent. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips and pulling me against him. I can feel him hardening against my stomach, his desire a tangible thing between us.
"We should celebrate," he murmurs against my lips, his hands already working their way under my shirt.
"I thought you'd never ask," I breathe, arching into his touch as his fingers find bare skin.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bedroom.
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