Chapter 2 #2
"I'm right here." I guide her back onto the bed, hovering over her, drinking in the sight of her beneath me. "I've always been right here."
"I know." Tears slip down her temples and into her hair. "I know, and I'm so sorry I made you wait. I'm so sorry I—"
I silence her with a kiss, swallowing her apologies, her guilt, her shame. I don't want any of that tonight.
Tonight, I just want her.
I take my time undressing her, peeling away each layer like I'm unwrapping something precious.
The tank top goes first, then the worn jeans that hang loose on her hips.
She's not wearing a bra—she's too thin for one to fit right anymore—and her underwear is plain white cotton, the kind she used to wear when we first got together.
She looks up at me, vulnerable in a way she hasn't let herself be in years. "I know I don't look the same. I know I'm—"
"You're beautiful." I mean it. I've never meant anything more. "You've always been beautiful to me, Vanna. That's never going to change."
I kiss my way down her body, my lips tracing paths I know by heart even after all this time.
The curve of her neck.
The hollow of her throat.
The space between her breasts where her heart beats steady and strong, defying all the damage she's done to it.
She gasps when I reach her stomach, her muscles tensing beneath my mouth.
I hook my fingers in the waistband of her underwear and look up at her, asking permission with my eyes.
She nods, lifting her hips to help me pull them off.
And then she's bare beneath me, and I have to stop for a moment just to look at her.
To remember what it feels like to be this close to her.
To breathe the same air, to feel her skin against mine, to know that for this one night, at least, she's mine again.
"Garrett," she breathes, reaching for me. "Please. I need you inside me. I need to feel you."
I shed the rest of my clothes quickly, not caring where they land, and settle between her thighs.
She's already wet for me—I can feel it when I brush against her—and the knowledge that she wants this as much as I do makes something primal roar to life in my chest.
I reach down between us, needing to touch her first, needing to make sure she's ready.
My fingers find her slick and swollen, and she gasps at the contact, her hips jerking up toward my hand.
"Bloodhound," she whimpers. "Please..."
"I've got you." I stroke her slowly, watching her face, memorizing every reaction.
The way her lips part.
The way her eyes flutter closed.
The way her whole body trembles when I find the spot that makes her moan. "I've always got you, baby."
She's close already—I can feel it in the way she tightens around my fingers, in the desperate sounds she's making.
But I don't let her fall.
Not yet.
I want to be inside her when she comes.
I want to feel her shatter around me.
"Look at me," I command, my voice rough. "I want to see your eyes when I'm inside you."
She meets my gaze, her lips parted, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
I position myself at her entrance, teasing her with just the tip, and watch her eyes go dark with need.
"Garrett," she begs. "Please. I need you. I need—"
I push into her in one slow, steady thrust, and we both groan at the sensation.
She's so tight. So hot. So fucking perfect that I have to stop and breathe, have to fight the urge to come right then and there like a goddamn teenager.
"Oh god," she moans, her back arching off the bed. "Blood... yes... you feel so good..."
I hold still for a moment, buried deep inside her, savoring the feeling of being connected to her in the most intimate way possible.
It's been so long.
Too long.
I'd almost forgotten what this felt like—the tight heat of her, the way her body fits around mine like we were made for each other.
The way coming home to her feels like the only home I've ever needed.
"I love you," I tell her, because I need her to know. Because I'm not sure I'll get another chance to say it like this. "I've never stopped loving you, Vanna. Not for one second."
"I love you too." She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
I start to move, setting a rhythm that's slow and deep.
This isn't about getting off.
This is about connection.
About remembering what we used to be to each other.
About saying goodbye in the only way that matters.
Because tomorrow, I have to let her go.
Tomorrow, I have to walk away and trust that she'll come back to me.
And I don't know if I'm strong enough for that.
But tonight—tonight, she's mine.
"Harder," she gasps, her nails raking down my back. "Please, Blood. I need more."
I give her what she asks for, picking up the pace, driving into her with a force that makes the headboard slam against the wall.
She cries out, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper.
"Yes," she moans. "Yes, just like that. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I couldn't stop if I wanted to.
Not when she's looking at me like that.
Not when she's saying my name like a prayer.
Not when every sound she makes tells me she's right there with me, climbing toward the edge.
"That's it, baby," I growl against her ear. "Let go. I've got you. I'll always have you."
She shatters with a scream, her whole body convulsing around me, and the feeling of her coming undone pulls me over the edge with her.
I bury myself as deep as I can go and let myself fall, spilling into her with a groan that feels like it's being torn from my very soul.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled together, trying to remember how to breathe.
I'm still inside her, neither of us willing to break the connection yet.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, and I press kisses to her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.
"Stay," she whispers. "Just a little longer."
"I'm not going anywhere."
I shift us so we're lying on our sides, facing each other, still joined.
Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, and she looks more peaceful than I've seen her in years.
"I forgot," she murmurs. "I forgot what it felt like to be loved like that."
"Get used to it." I brush a strand of hair from her face. "When you come home, I'm going to spend every day reminding you."
Something flickers in her expression—hope, maybe, or fear that hope will be snatched away again. "You really think I can do this?"
"I know you can."
"How? How can you be so sure when I'm not sure of anything?"
I take her hand and press it to my chest, right over my heart. "Because I believe in you. And someday, you're going to believe in yourself too."
She doesn't respond, just curls closer to me, tucking her head under my chin.
I pull the blanket over us and hold her tight, listening to the sound of her breathing slow as she drifts toward sleep.
I don't sleep. I can't. Not when I know that in a few hours, I have to let her go.
So, I lie there in the darkness, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the scent of her hair, the rhythm of her heartbeat against my chest.
I lie there and pray to a God I'm not sure I believe in that this time will be different.
That she'll come back to me whole.
That the woman I fell in love with is still in there somewhere, fighting her way back to the surface.
One more time, I think. Give her one more chance.
Give us one more chance.
Morning comes too soon.
Vanna wakes slowly, blinking against the gray light filtering through the thin curtains.
For a moment, she looks confused—like she doesn't know where she is or how she got here.
Then her eyes find mine, and she remembers.
"Hey," she says softly.
"Hey."
She stretches, wincing slightly, and I hate myself for the satisfaction I feel knowing that she's sore from last night.
That I left my mark on her in a way that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with love.
"What time is it?" she asks.
"A little after seven. We should get on the road soon."
The words hang between us, heavy with everything they mean.
The road. The facility. The twelve weeks she'll spend away from me, fighting a battle I can't fight for her.
Vanna nods slowly, her expression shuttering.
The peace from last night is already fading, replaced by the fear that's become her constant companion.
"Okay," she says. "I'll take a quick shower."
She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the water start a moment later.
I use the time to get dressed, to pack up the few things we brought, to prepare myself for the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
Letting her go.
The drive to the facility takes less than an hour.
It's a beautiful place—I made sure of that.
A sprawling campus surrounded by trees, with buildings that look more like cabins than hospitals.
The kind of place where you might actually be able to heal, if you're willing to do the work.
Vanna stares out the window as we pull up to the main building, her hands clenched in her lap.
"It's nice," she says, but her voice is hollow.
"Yeah." I put the truck in park but don't turn off the engine. "It is."
We sit there for a long moment, neither of us willing to move.
To take the next step. To say goodbye.
"I don't know if I can do this," Vanna whispers.
"You can." I reach over and take her hand. "You're the strongest person I know, Vanna. You just have to believe it."
"What if I fail? What if I come back and nothing's changed?"
"Then we'll figure it out. Together. Like we always do."
She turns to look at me, and there are tears streaming down her face. "I don't want to leave you."
"I don't want you to leave either." My own voice is rough, cracking around the edges. "But this isn't goodbye. This is... this is see you later. Twelve weeks, Van. That's all. And then you're coming home to me."
She nods, but I can see she doesn't quite believe it.
That's okay. I'll believe enough for both of us.
I get out of the truck and walk around to her side, opening the door and helping her down.
Her bag is small—just enough for a few days until Aunt Ellie can bring more—and I carry it for her as we walk toward the entrance.
A woman meets us at the door.
She's kind-looking, with gray-streaked hair and warm eyes, and she introduces herself as one of the intake counselors.
She explains the process, the rules, and the schedule.
I hear the words but don't really process them.
All I can focus on is Vanna's hand in mine, the way her fingers tremble against my palm.
"We'll take good care of her," the counselor promises me.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
And then it's time.
Vanna turns to face me, and for a moment we just stand there, looking at each other.
Twenty-two years of history stretch between us—the good and the bad and everything in between.
I try to memorize her face.
The exact shade of her eyes.
The curve of her lips.
The way she looks at me like I'm the only solid thing in a world that keeps shifting beneath her feet.
"I love you," I tell her, my voice breaking on the words. "Come back to me. Promise me you'll come back."
"I will." She rises on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to my lips. Soft. Gentle. A promise sealed with the taste of her tears. "I love you, Garrett. I've always loved you, even when I was too lost to show it."
"I know." I cup her face in my hands one last time, brushing my thumbs across her cheekbones. "You're going to do this, Vanna. You're going to fight, and you're going to win. And I'll be right here waiting when you come out the other side."
"Really?" she whispers.
"Always. There's no version of my life that doesn't include you."
She pulls back, and I can see her steeling herself. Gathering her courage. Becoming the warrior she needs to be to fight this battle.
And then she turns and walks through the door, and I'm left standing there alone.
I watch through the window as she disappears down a hallway, following the counselor toward whatever comes next.
I watch until I can't see her anymore, until she's gone completely, and then I keep watching anyway.
It takes everything I have to turn around.
To walk back to my truck.
To climb inside and start the engine and pull out of the parking lot.
I make it about ten miles before I have to pull over.
The first sob hits me like a punch to the gut, doubling me over the steering wheel.
And then they just keep coming—great, heaving sobs that I've been holding back for years.
For every overdose. Every hospital visit. Every time I thought I'd lost her for good.
I cry for the girl she used to be and the woman she's become.
I cry for the years we've lost and the years we might still lose.
I cry for the fear and the hope and the desperate, clawing love that won't let me give up on her no matter how many times she gives up on herself.
And when there's nothing left, when I'm empty and raw and hollowed out, I wipe my face with the back of my hand and put the truck in drive.
Twelve weeks.
She'll be home in twelve weeks.
I hold onto that thought like a lifeline as I head back toward Morgantown, leaving a piece of my heart in the Poconos with the woman I love.
One day at a time.
That's all any of us can do.