Chapter 42
CADE
“Can we talk about your letter?” I asked gently when she awoke a while later. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but there was a clarity and awareness back in them now. The IV had pumped her full of fluids, and with that and the pain medication, she was clearly feeling a bit better.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m ready now.” Her face looked like she was bracing for my response, and I wouldn’t leave her in suspense any longer.
I spoke softly but directly.
“Brooke—I’ve been trying to take care of you since I was seven years old and you scraped up your knees in my driveway. What makes you think I wouldn’t want to take care of your bruised and battered heart?”
Her tears slowly began to fall again, but I went on, wiping them from her cheeks.
“I know you. I know how badly you wanted to learn calligraphy in ninth grade. I know you want to go to Africa and how much you love sunflowers. I know your competitive streak. I know your terrible attempts at a dirty sense of humor.”
She gave a wet laugh.
“I know the look you get in your eyes when your brain is telling you to shut me out. I know that beautiful brain of yours likes to beat you up sometimes, to tell you that you’re too broken, that you’re not enough. But I’m telling you—you are. You’ve always been enough for me.”
I grabbed her hand in both of mine.
“Look at me, Brooke. Don’t you get it yet, baby? I want you. All of you. I want to be the reason you smile. I want to hold you when you’re scared. If you’re crying, I’m wiping your tears. It’s been my job since I was seven years old. Please, baby. Please just let me do it.”
She nodded through her tears, and I knew then I’d finally won. Nothing could keep us apart now.
Still, her brain began to come up with potential roadblocks.
“But we don’t even live in the same place, and—”
“I don’t care where we live. I will move anywhere for you, Brooke. Anywhere. Just tell me we can be together.” I kept her hand tightly clasped between mine, as if that would keep her locked in this moment with me. “I should’ve done that before. I was scared, too, you know.”
“Yeah, but your job, your parents, your—”
“No, listen to me, baby. I’ve figured out some things, too.
And I’ve come to the conclusion that you—are my home.
You jump, I jump. You’re a bird, I'm a bird. All that shit. You and me. I’ve traveled across the country and back searching for an ounce of what I’ve always felt just sitting next to you.
You are pure sunshine—even when your mind is dark.
You’re like those sunflowers you love so much.
Sometimes you just need to turn your head, and find the light. ”
She choked out a laugh, and I grinned so hard it hurt.
“You asked me in California, ‘Who meets their soulmate when they’re 8 years old?’ Well, I did. I fell hopelessly in love that summer with the little brown-eyed girl who laid across from me with her head full of secrets. And I never stopped loving her. I don’t think I ever will.”
“I love you so much,” she said, tears flowing freely.
Her eyes slowly lifted, her expression pleading. “Can you give me a month?”
“A month apart?”
The thought pierced my heart. I couldn’t bear for her to pull away again, not when I was so close to what I’d dreamed of.
“No . . . I . . . I’m not saying this right.
” She took a breath, and her eyes shone with resolve.
“Let me try again. I want to be with you, if you’ll have me.
I want to make this work. I still want to talk.
Every day, I hope. I want to see you. I’m in this.
I promise. I’ll be better at communicating.
I meant every word I said in that letter.
But—I need a month before we can make any big decisions about where we should live.
How exactly we’ll make things work. Can you . . . give me that?”
A month? It had taken us twenty years to get here—a month was nothing. A month was nothing compared to the lifetime I planned to spend with this girl.
“As long as you’re mine.” I met her eyes.
“I’m yours,” she confirmed.
And my heart soared.
Brooke was released from the hospital later that afternoon, her arm in a sling.
I could already see how hard she was working to communicate with me, and she told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted to see my home and spend some time with me before she had to go back to Boston—if I was okay with that.
Of course I was okay with that.
As we drove, I slipped my hand into hers, marveling that I finally got to do this again.
She sighed in contentment, an echo to the sentiment I was feeling.
I drove her to my house, noting the way her eyes widened when she saw me turn into The Grove subdivision.
“When Nic said you moved back—she wasn’t kidding, was she?”
“She was not,” I confirmed, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I’ve got my own place now.”
Rather than drive all the way back to our old cul-de-sac, where my parents lived, I turned onto Redbud Lane, pulling the car to a stop in front of my Cape Cod-style bungalow.
The siding was new and was painted a soft white, the shingled roof was light gray, and the door and shutters were a deep forest green.
The door sat in the middle of the home, with symmetrical windows on either side.
We walked carefully along the paved path, and as she took in the lush, landscaped front yard, I couldn’t stop the swell of pride that touched my chest. I’d worked hard on this place. I’d waited a long time to show her this home I’d chosen for myself—for us, I’d thought, when I’d dared to dream.
I held her good arm and helped her up the few brick steps to my front door. Lantern-style sconces hung on either side.
“Cade . . .” she said, her voice full of wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
I winked. “Wait til you see the inside.”