Page 58 of Dump Tackle My Heart
This moment? This is it.
Where it all starts.
Her and me.
Dani’s trembling in my arms, skin flushed, her breath ragged against my chest.
I reach for the blanket, wrapping it around both of us as the fire crackles beside us, our only source of light and warmth now that the power's out.
She shifts like she might try to move away, maybe to rebuild that damn pillow wall or hide behind some invisible shield she thinks will protect her from how real this just got.
Not happening.
I pull her closer instead.
Gently. But firmly.
Like Imeanit.
Because I do.
“I’ve got you, Sweetheart,” I murmur into her hair as I reach for the roll of paper towels we casually left on the floor after we ate dinner. Then, I softly clean her skin.
My hands are careful, reverent. She shivers—maybe from the cold, maybe from me—but she doesn’t argue.
She lets me take care of her.
That’s new.
And I swear, I won’t take it for granted.
Not ever.
I hold her tight against me once we’re clean and bundled up, my arms around her back, one hand on her hip, the other splayed protectively across her belly.
Like it belongs there.
Because it does.
She rests her cheek against my chest. Her breathing slows.
I feel her lashes flutter closed, and the tightness in her body starts to ease.
Her walls—those unspoken ones—begin to fall away like the snow outside.
She thinks this is temporary.
Just a storm.
Just a weekend.
Just this.
But she’s wrong.
Because I’ve made up my mind.
Dani McNally is mine.
