25. Ford
CHAPTER 25
ford
I tried to call and text Peyton on the way, but I got no response. So I kept on driving.
I pulled into the driveway a little before eleven. Peyton’s truck was backed up to the porch, full of boxes. The double doors of the house were wide open, letting every mosquito in Virginia inside. I parked in front of her vehicle, blocking her in, in case this didn’t go well.
Then I walked past her truck, eyeing the contents. The closer to the front of the truck, the neater the packing job. You could see exactly when she decided she didn’t give a crap anymore. The last two-thirds was a monument to panic packing. Halfway through, she either ran out of tape or the will to care because the rest of the boxes were folded haphazardly. And then she’d given up all together and resorted to trash bags.
“Oh man.” I grabbed two boxes from the truck and carried them up the porch stairs and back inside. Then I shut the doors and set them on the foyer floor, next to more full trash bags.
Rather than call her name, I went looking. It didn’t take thirty seconds to find her curled up on the leather couch in the great room, asleep. She was facing the wall with Lula snuggled at her side.
Lula lifted her head and whined when she saw me. Peyton shifted but she didn’t wake. I pet my pup on the head, quieting her. Peyton sniffled in her sleep and adjusted her arm around Lula’s neck. Tracks of mascara streaked her cheeks like angry skid marks. This woman. She must’ve sat down to rest and fallen asleep, exhausted.
I knelt down, her back to me, and ran a hand over her hair. “Peyton,” I whispered.
“Hmm.” She sniffled again and then shuddered. It looked like she’d been crying in her sleep.
I pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Peyton, baby, wake up.”
She jerked and her eyes flew open. “Ford?”
“Hey,” I said softly. “I’m home. Can you wake up and talk to me?”
She let go of Lula and rolled over. Her eyes were so big and sad, puffy and already filling with tears.
I tilted my head. “Why is your truck full of boxes?”
Her bottom lip puckered and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cry. It had the opposite effect, forcing the tears out like small rivers. “I’m moving.”
I chuckled. “No, you’re not. You’re staying right here.”
Her eyes opened. “I am?”
I pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “You are.”
She sat up and collapsed against me. “I’m so sorry I lied to you.”
“Oh, baby, I’m sorry I wasn’t the kind of man I should’ve been. Sorry I made you feel unsafe.” I pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “And I’m sorry I embarrassed you on national television and showed up high at the restaurant after.” Another kiss. “But mostly I’m sorry I missed out on fourteen years with you and Cash because I didn’t have my crap together.”
Her hands hooked around my neck and she pulled my mouth to hers. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Another kiss. “And I’m sorry I told you that night in the back of your truck was nothing.” Another kiss. “It was the biggest lie of all. That night was everything. You’re everything.” She trapped my face in her hands and pressed a kiss to my left cheekbone. “That’s why I didn’t get rid of the tattoo.” A kiss to the right. “I’d never been loved like that in my life and I wanted to remember it.” A kiss on the chin. “To remember that’s the kind of love I deserve. To remember you.”
Lula shoved her head between us, her tongue catching us in the noses.
“Lula!” I pushed her head away. She whined, scampered off the couch, and out of the room.
Peyton’s hands were in my hair and she was looking at me with the same intensity as that night in the truck. No, this look was more intense than that. This one was full of years of wanting and gratitude that we were finally going to be together.
“Did Braxton know what the tattoo was?” I asked, my thumb tracing over her tank top where I remembered the tattoo to be.
“I told him it was the longitude and latitude for Hawaii.”
I tucked a long, tear soaked strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t Google it?”
“I guess not. Because that longitude and latitude is some obscure village in Afghanistan.” We both laughed. She smoothed my hair back. “He never said anything else about it.”
Knowing that I’d been inked on her skin, that she’d kept me in at least a tiny corner of her heart all this time, made me feel a tad bit vindicated. She’d always had all of mine.
My hands were on her waist. “So he thought you had the coordinates for Hawaii permanently on your ribcage and he never bothered to take you there?” He had plenty of money to do it.
“No. He was too busy taking Stephanie to Tulum, and Costa Rica, and Barbados and lying about it.” She pressed an irreverent kiss to my lips. “But you took me there.” Another kiss. “And you didn’t even know about the tattoo.” Yet another. “Because you love me for real and you listen to me and you care about what I care about.”
“I do.” I smiled, the two words that sealed us together finally meaning what they should.
Suddenly she was crying again, her face twisted like she’d been shot. “I thought I lost you for good.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You’re not going to lose me. Ever. I just needed some time.” I stared into her beautiful eyes. “We created a life together. That’s kind of cool.”
“It’s so cool.” She smiled. “I’m glad I get to share Cash with you now. Fully.”
I picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “And we’re married.”
She placed that palm against my cheek. “We are.”
I leaned into her touch. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Me too.” She wiped her cheeks and made the mistake of looking at her mascara stained palms. “Oh my gosh.” Her eyes went wide and she hid her face in her hands. “You had this whole conversation with me looking like some hideous beast.”
I chuckled. “You mean the most perfectly beautiful woman on the planet?”
She started to get up. I already knew she was heading to find something to get the mascara off.
“Stay. I’ll get it,” I ordered. I jogged to our bedroom and grabbed her makeup wipes and a handheld mirror from the bathroom cabinet. Then I jogged back to the great room.
“Look away,” she said when I handed them to her.
I knelt down, eyes on the floor, fighting back a grin as I held the mirror for her.
When she was done, she set the wipes on the coffee table. Then she reached for me, pulling me between her legs for a hug.
Her forehead rested against mine. “I love you,” she said. “I’m going to tell you like a billion times a day to make up for all the days I didn’t say it.”
“You already know I love you.”
“I do.”
“We might need some therapy,” I said.
“Yeah. I’m game if you are.”
“With you? I’m up for anything.” I tilted my head. “I thought I told you not to get a tattoo.”
She trapped my face in her hands. “I just wanted to be connected to you. And I wanted you to know, no matter where you went, whatever city you toured in, that you were inked right next to my heart.”
“I guess I understand that.” I put her hand over my left pec, over my Only She Can Save Me tattoo.
Her eyes widened. “I'm she ?”
I nodded. “It’s always been you, Peyt.”
She smiled. “Me too, Ford.”
My mouth crashed over hers and the sweet, careful kisses from a minute ago turned fierce and frantic. She had on cut-offs like the first night we met. My hands slipped up her thighs and goosebumps sprung up under my fingertips. The fact that I could touch her whenever I wanted now, unbidden, felt like the biggest miracle of all.
My hands kept going, over her hips, dipping in at her waist. I lifted the hem of her tank top. She murmured her encouragement, her fingers tangling in my hair. I traced over her ribs, slowly climbing, taking my time, treasuring every touch. My right thumb brushed over the smooth skin of her tattoo—still awed that she’d gotten it in the first place and mystified that she’d been hiding it all this time.
Then I broke the kiss and, speaking slowly and carefully, making my intentions unmistakably clear, I said, “Can I please, finally , love my wife?”
“Yes.” She smiled, so happy. “Yes. I would like that very much.”