Page 120 of This Life and All the Rest
“She told me to stop emailing you. That I was being pathetic. That you didn’t want to talk to me, and you were doing better without me.”
She shakes her head. She looks exhausted, her words full of grief.
“I’ve spent so much time being angry with you,” Lennon breathes out. “I don’t regret Paris. I like what I’ve done with my life. I like who I’ve become. But everything I’ve done, everything I’ve accomplished, has been tainted by this bone-deep need to recover from being betrayed by you, and come to find out, it was all a lie.”
She hits me with the saddest eyes I’ve seen from her in a long time. Heartbroken and pleading. Lost.
Are we too far gone to fix?
I should have pulled that guy off her in that alley. I should have showed myself to her, instead of running away and drowning myself in cheap liquor and street pills.
I never should have let her go a second time.
This whole time, I thought she knew.
My chest cracks when the first tear trickles down her face, and the sounds in my head start to echo. It’s too late. We missed our chance. Too much has happened. Too much has changed.
When she speaks again, her voice is a hushed confession, trembling with need and fear. The last words on the lips of your lover. A death bed declaration.
“I’m so tired, Macon. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of fighting this. I’m tired of pretending it hasn’t always been you.”
We move at the same time, my hands sliding to the back of her neck and hers gripping onto my biceps. I kiss her hard, insistent. The first honest kiss between us in four years.
AnI’m sorrykiss. AnI missed youkiss.
Ayou’ve always been minekiss.
Then I lift her in my arms and carry her to my bedroom, where I plan to make up for lost time.
THIRTY-ONE
His tongue snakesinto my mouth, toying with mine. He nibbles on my lips, then pulls his mouth from mine to kiss my jaw and neck.
“I could taste you forever,” he rumbles over my skin before setting me gently on my feet. When he takes a step backward, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head, then unhook my bra, dropping both pieces of clothing onto the floor.
His eyes scan me from head to toe, setting ablaze to every inch of my skin. We’re smoldering. Just having him look at me is turning me molten.
His eyes, his touch.
He’s the only person who can set me on fire and coax me to dance while I burn.
He reaches out and cups my breast with his big, tattooed hand, and brushes his thumb over my nipple, making me hiss. Then he lifts his other hand and does the same.
“Beautiful.”
He slides his palms down my sides, hooks his fingers into the waistband of my pants, and drags them down my legs.
Then he drops to his knees and kisses my stomach with a reverence and softness that make my throat tight.
What was. What could have been.
He’ll never forgive himself for not being there. I’ve had years to mourn that pregnancy. He’s only just begun.
I cup my hands on the side of his face, tilting it up to look at me.
“It’s not your fault,” I whisper.
Macon’s eyes flutter shut, but he doesn’t speak, so I bend down and kneel in front of him.
