Epilogue #2
“There was a reason I told you to stay put. You could’ve been lost.”
“I was perfectly safe. I just wanted to say hi to Cleo.”
“Who’s Cleo?”
Seriously?
God, my boyfriend.
He doesn’t remember anything, does he?
I’ve talked about Cleo a thousand times before. I’ve talked about her husband, Zach, a thousand times before too. We’re at his show, for God’s sake.
Zachariah Prince, aka The Dark Prince, is a performer who does amazing things with his motorcycle. He flies it over holes. He circles the wall of death – like he did at the show that we just saw. He jumps off ramps and does all sorts of daring and dangerous things.
Cleo Prince, his wife, handles all his social media and that’s where we became friends. Because I wouldn’t stop fangirling on Zach’s Instagram and somehow, she found out that I’m Arrow’s girlfriend and she’s a huge fan of The Blond Arrow aaaand yeah.
Today was the first time I met her in person and I totally loved her.
We’re planning on going out to dinner together, all four of us. I just have to convince Arrow and she has to convince Zach because Zach gets a little jealous when Cleo fangirls over Arrow.
And well, we all know how Arrow gets when I fangirl over someone else other than him.
But come on, The Blond Arrow and The Dark Prince together? It’s so happening.
Anyway I remember telling Arrow about meeting Cleo at the carnival thingy.
I sigh.
I shouldn’t find this so adorable, but I do.
So much so that I kiss his jaw again.
“She’s the wife of the guy we came to see.” I explain further when he doesn’t seem to grasp it, “The Dark Prince. Zach. The amazing guy who does wonderful things while riding a motorcycle, remember? We just saw him.”
Finally, the bell rings and a thick frown appears between his brows. “I wouldn’t say wonderful.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s beyond wonderful. Above and beyond.”
His grip on my neck contracts and goes tighter. “I thought you were my groupie.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at his possessive tone. “Are you jealous?”
“Keep it up and you’ll find out.”
I shake my head at his irritated tone. “You’re so cute.”
“Cute.”
I wish his cap was off so I could grip his hair. His wonderful, rich, sun-struck hair, and mess it all up.
Because he looks a little too uptight, a little too irritated for such a wonderful occasion.
“Yes. You’re the only one who gets to write his name on my chest. Don’t you know that by now?”
His beautiful eyes move to my chest and my breaths start to come out in soft gasps. My bra-less breasts tingle and my nipples get all hard and achy.
Maybe because he did write his name there, last night. He also wrote his name on my stomach and way high up on my thighs.
He likes to do that.
Write his name everywhere on my body.
And then, he likes to fuck me really, really hard while he stares at me, at the girl who belongs to him.
At the girl who has his name on her skin. Because he put it there. Because he wants to declare to the world that I’m his. He has claimed me.
I think I’ll have it tattooed one day, his name, on my ribs, where my heart is.
A flush comes over his gorgeous high cheekbones when he lifts his eyes. I’m so busy staring into his dark gaze that I don’t even notice when he’s crept his hand forward and grasped the chain sitting between my heaving breasts.
He tugs at it, pulling me forward and making me arch my back. “I do, don’t I?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes sweep over my face in the usual way. My hair, my nose.
My lips.
He tips his chin. “What’s this one called?”
“Sweet Little Sweetheart.”
“Sweet Little Sweetheart,” he repeats on a whisper.
“There’s a reason I chose it,” I tell him.
“I know.”
“You do?”
His gaze comes back up and arrests all my breaths and heartbeats. “Because it’s been two years since I called you that and you like to celebrate every little thing like the needy girlfriend you are.”
I gasp, dropping my ice cream – because who the fuck cares about ice cream when your boyfriend just said he remembers – and clutch his t-shirt with both hands. “You remember?”
It has been two years since then.
Since the night I went to see him in his motel room.
Two years since I became his and he became mine.
Our anniversary.
Dropping his cone as well, he tugs at the chain again. “Why do you think we’re here?”
“B-because I was bugging you to go see the show.”
I have been bugging him. As soon as I knew Zach was going to be doing a show in California, so close to LA, I started begging Arrow to go.
Not only because I’m a huge fan but also because Zach and Cleo belong to my hometown, Princetown, where I lived before moving to St. Mary’s.
Arrow never showed any interest in going at all though.
Not until one day he surprised me with the tickets.
But I honestly didn’t think he had done it for our anniversary.
“I thought the dates were a coincidence. You never said anything,” I say in a breathy, awed voice.
“It’s called a surprise.”
Tears sting my eyes. “You surprised me. For our anniversary.”
A lopsided smile appears on his lips even as a grave emotion takes hold of his features. “Well, we haven’t spent much time together in the past couple of months. Because of my practices and things.”
That’s true.
The season is still on – they have the last championship game next week – and so he’s been really busy with soccer practice. Another reason why I thought he wouldn’t remember.
Plus I’ve been busy with my own stuff.
Yeah, I’ve got stuff now. Namely, college.
It’s a little weird. I never thought I’d go to college. But then I never thought that I’d play on an actual soccer team at that school and I do that as well.
After the summer program at the youth academy, I decided to stay in California with Arrow. Obviously.
We got a great apartment and I worked for a while at a nearby café while I decided what to do with my life. College wasn’t on my radar until my friends from St. Mary’s told me to give it a shot.
Arrow was supportive as well and I was like, why not.
My mother had left me with a college fund and I had the best guy in the world to tutor me if I ever needed it, and so I started college earlier this year.
It’s a lot of work and along with Arrow’s practices and hectic travel schedule, sometimes it’s hard to find any free time.
But I understand.
Even though we get busy at times, I know we love each other.
I know it when I leave him sexy notes all over the apartment and he always replies back. I know it when he writes me sweet little poems and sticks them in my textbooks for me to find later.
When we have impromptu picnics on our living room floor because we don’t have the time to go out to a restaurant or to the movies. When he comes home exhausted and we simply cuddle on the couch in silence before falling asleep.
I know.
“But it’s okay. I don’t –”
“And I forgot,” he cuts me off. “Last year. But I didn’t want to forget again. I didn’t…”
I cradle his jaw. “Hey, it’s okay. I know you’re busy. I know you forget things. But I don’t mind. I don’t, Arrow. It’s okay. You’re just trying to figure things out. We both are.”
He is.
God, is he trying.
Just because he’s accepted that he wants more from life doesn’t mean it has been a fun change.
Some days are easy for him. Some days Arrow remembers that he doesn’t have to be perfect all the time. He doesn’t need to constantly prove himself.
But there are hard days too.
When he’s on edge, on the warpath. When he gets this urge, this anxious, jittery feeling to work himself to the ground.
On those days, I remind him that he’s my Arrow now. The guy I’m in love with, and he’s perfect the way he is. I remind him that he doesn’t need to be what they told him that he should be.
He should be himself.
Dr. Lola Bernstein helps as well. He still sees her but mostly they have Skype sessions since she lives in the east and we’re here in California.
He also talks to his mom, trying to build a new relationship if possible.
They talk about his dad a lot, about how he was before he died.
I think he’s just trying to figure out his father, whose dream he was pursuing with such focus.
He’s trying to figure out if his dad was really the man that his mother portrayed or was there more to him than the wish to play for the European League.
In the meantime, European League is on hold for Arrow.
He’s only focusing on his game here and trying to take it easy.
“Things with us, with me, haven’t been easy,” he says, the lines of his features harsh and tight.
“I never thought I could… live like this. That I could be someone. Someone else. Myself. I never thought I could feel so much. And for the past two years, that’s what I’ve done.
I’ve felt. And felt and Jesus Christ, it’s fucking fantastic.
My heart, I can hear it. I can feel the rush in my blood when you touch me.
I can feel my breaths stopping and jacking up when I look at you.
And when you smile…” He takes in my lips again and a puff of breath escapes him.
“My chest hurts. It aches and I know that I have to kiss you or I’ll explode. ”
“Yeah?”
He licks his lips and raises his eyes, open and shining. “Yeah and I’m scared that I’ll fuck it up. I’ll fuck it all up and you’ll realize that you’re better off and… I’d be lost all over again and –”
I put a finger on his lips. “You won’t be. You won’t be lost, Arrow. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He swallows. “No?”
“No. I’m Arrow’s girl, remember? The girl you kissed in front of the whole world.”
He did.
Last year at the championship game.
When Arrow shot the winning goal, I was so freaking happy that I actually ran out onto the field to hug him.
I’d always wanted to do that, you see. I always wanted to attend all his games and cheer for him from the stands and last year when he made his comeback after sitting out half the season before, I could.
Only security stopped me.