Chapter 47
Locke
Outside the Suburban, I stretch my arms overhead and inhale the crisp mountain air, savoring the chill on the breeze.
I love the mountains. I love getting away from real life, losing myself in nature, away from the buzz of school and the media.
I haven’t felt this good in a long-ass time.
Each time I come off a bad flare, I’m wary. It’s hard to trust my body, or even my mind. I’ll feel incrementally better one day, but I don’t let myself hope. Not until I’ve made it through multiple days of reduced pain. Only then do I accept that maybe the worst is over.
Then, when the agony is diminished, I question whether it was really as bad as I remember. Sometimes I swear it was all in my head.
It’s ridiculous. Pain is pain, and mine is debilitating. It affects all aspects of my existence, and there’s no way to quantify what it feels like or how it’ll compare to the discomfort of the following day.
Today is the first day I woke up confident that I’m on the upswing.
The absence of pain is sweet.
The presence of her is even sweeter.
Being back in the mix with my girl—holding her without aching, kissing her, playing with her, and worshipping her the way she deserves—is the sweetest reward.
Once Jade has climbed out with her backpack and is dashing toward the cabin after Emilia—while Kendrick yells at her to put on the coat she has tied around her waist—I offer Joey my hand. When she emerges from the back seat, she looks suspiciously rosy-cheeked and satisfied.
“You fucked in the back seat,” I deadpan as she hits the running board on her way out.
“Finger fucked, yes,” Kylian declares as he climbs out behind her and moves past us toward the house.
With a gasp, Joey smacks him in the chest.
“Emilia said you were sad,” he counters, clutching her hand. “An orgasm always cheers you up.”
Joey rolls her eyes, then sets her sights on me.
She gives me a once-over, and when she finally meets my gaze, she breaks into a playful grin. My girl likes what she sees, and I’ll be damned if Kylian’s the only one who gets to cheer her up with orgasms over the next few days.
Taking a step closer, I lower my head just a little. “Hey, Hot Girl.”
Her eyes twinkle with delight. “You’re back.” Looping her arms around my midsection, she squeezes hard. Just how I like it.
With a groan, I pull her impossibly close, and because I can—and because she needs the lighthearted moment—I lift her off the ground and spin in circles.
When I settle her on her feet again, I bring my lips to the shell of her ear. “I’m back.” My voice is gravelly, even to my own ears. “I’m sorry it was so rough for so long.”
Slipping from my hold, she plants her hands on her hips and scowls. “Can I punch you?”
I can’t help the snicker that slips out at her odd request. “I mean, I guess?”
Her little play punch lands right in my abs.
With an exaggerated hmph, I stumble. “You know I like it when you get violent with me, Hot Girl.”
She crosses her arms and holds her head high. “Don’t apologize for things you can’t control or for doing what you need to do to be okay. I don’t want you to ever say sorry for that again.”
I love it when she’s feisty. I love it even more that she’s so unconditionally supportive.
“Come here.” I grin and wave both hands until she’s biting back her own smile and waltzing back into my arms. “I love you,” I murmur into her hair. “I promise not to apologize for my arthritis again, but can I at least say thank you?”
With a drawn-out sigh, she snakes her arms around my waist and melts into me. “Yes. That, I can accept.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much, Joey. For loving me. For sticking it out on the bad days. For making me tea and forcing me to sleep.” My chest gets tight, and I have to clear my throat before I can continue. “For just being present and doing everything in your power to support me.”
She sniffles against my chest. “Always, Nicky. I’ll always be here for you. On the good days. But especially on the hard days.”
I smooth my hand over her hair, savoring just how incredible it is to have her back in my arms.
“There’ll be more hard days in the future,” I warn. “Weeks. Hell, maybe even months or years.” I pull in a breath and let it out slowly. Fuck, I hate the inevitable truth of chronic illness. “I’ll have flare-ups for the rest of my life.”
My girl tips her head back and rests her chin on my sternum. Her smile is soft and sincere when she says, “We’ll face every hard day together.”
I’m damn near teary eyed as I bow low to kiss her. It’s one thing to stick with a person through the good days. It’s hard for me to accept that this woman loves me enough to slog through my lowest lows, especially knowing there’s no limit to how low I’ll go or how long that low will last.
“I love you, Hot Girl. I know it’s been awful for you these last few weeks. Maybe the fresh mountain air is what you need, too. I love this place. I think you will, too.” Pulling back, I take her hand. “Come on. I want to show you around.”
“Wait.” She doesn’t budge when I tug on her hand. “You’ve been here before?”
“Been here?” I tease. Just the thought of this place makes me feel lighter.
“This is one of my top five favorite places in the world.”She grins and turns to retrieve her bag from the car.
I take it from her, grasp her hand once more, and start up the incline toward the house, following the stone path that leads to the wraparound porch.
“What are your other top favorite places?” she asks, squeezing my hand.
“Beach. Pantry. My bed.”
I side-eye her and waggle my brows.
“And buried inside you.”