Chapter 37
Jonas
Emma snores.
It’s the cutest snore I’ve ever heard too. Just barely above loud breathing.
No windows rattling here.
Although, I’d bet they do if she ever has a cold.
There’s nothing but silence coming from the rest of the house. Bash is asleep. Yolko Ono is asleep. No chicken noises drifting in from the open window.
Just the cool summer night breeze, the flicker of candles burning lower in here, and the sound of Emma’s deep, soft snores.
This .
This is the peace I didn’t know I wanted.
Lying here with a woman I love, our son safe in the next room, pets downstairs.
Friends who would drop everything to set up what was ultimately the best date I could’ve dreamed of, talking and laughing with Emma over a menu custom-made for her with all of her favorites.
A community that I’ve only just started exploring that loves her and Bash fiercely.
It’s like living in one of my family’s movies.
Except better.
There’s no final curtain call coming on this life with my family .
No last scene to anticipate and dread at the same time.
No pondering where to go next.
Not that I often ended one project without knowing what was coming for at least two more projects.
I’m itching to stroke her hair, to brush that lock out of her face. Her lips are parted, and I think she’s drooling.
So. Fucking. Perfect.
So fucking real .
She snorts suddenly, bats at her face, and her eyes pop open a split second before she pushes herself up, letting the candles illuminate her pert nipples and small breasts.
She blinks three times, looking at me, and I see the moment she registers that I’m still here.
“Hey,” I say softly, giving in to the urge to stroke her hair.
She stares one more long moment, and then a sleepy smile crosses her face while she lowers herself back to the mattress. “You never get bedhead, do you?”
That makes me laugh. “Yes, I do.”
“I don’t believe you.”
That mouth. Those dancing eyes behind sleepy eyelids. The teasing tone.
“Here. Look. I’ll mess it up.”
“No. No, let me.” She shifts on the bed so she’s facing me, reaching across me to ruffle my hair.
My eyes slide shut.
Can’t help it.
I love it when she touches me.
“Have you slept?” she whispers.
“No.”
“What time is it?”
“Close to midnight.”
“And you haven’t slept at all?”
I peek one eye open. “Didn’t want to wake up and find out this was all a dream.”
She stares at me like she’s looking for the punchline, and it utterly kills me that she still has these moments of self-doubt.
That she questions why I’d like her.
That she doesn’t fully believe me when I tell her she’s beautiful.
She hasn’t said it, but I can see it.
I can feel it.
It makes me want to disembowel her ex for the way he tore her down.
But that’s for tomorrow. Or tomorrow’s tomorrow.
Today, right now, all I care about is being here with her.
“You know my favorite thing about you?” I murmur.
Her cheeks go pink, and she shakes her head.
“Your massive, massive heart. The way you put everything you have into caring about everyone around you. Bash. Your friends. Your family. Your community.”
“They take care of me too. It’s not a one-way street.”
“But you’d do the same even if they didn’t.”
She would.
Zero doubt.
She didn’t let Zen and Jack leave without taking eggs, even though they insisted getting to hang with Bash was all that they wanted.
She found a way to throw her friends a baby shower so that the community could get what they wanted while not making her friends uncomfortable for feeling like they were asking people who couldn’t afford what they could to provide for the families they chose to have.
She puts everything she has into making sure Bash knows he’s loved, that his needs are met, and that he knows he matters. Whether it costs her sleep, food, or patience.
And she seems to have infinite patience, which I know isn’t true.
She can’t.
None of us do.
But she reaches for it like she does.
“I haven’t taken care of you yet,” she says softly.
“Yes, you have.” I put a hand to her beating heart. “You let me in here when you didn’t have to. You gave me a chance when I didn’t deserve it.”
“ Stop . You did too deserve it.”
“No, I?—”
“You need to forgive yourself,” she says softly. “I don’t want to spend the next fifty years with you not knowing if you’re with me out of guilt or obligation or because you truly, truly like me as a person.”
“ Love you,” I correct. “I want to spend the next fifty years of my life with you because I love you.”
Her breath catches and her eyes go shiny, but I don’t take it back.
I won’t. I can’t .
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you and you deserve to know how worthy you are of being loved for exactly who you are. I love you for being suspicious of me. I love you for giving me another chance. I love you for how you’re raising Bash.
I love you for all of the strength that you have that you don’t give yourself credit for.
I love you for being the friend I needed in Fiji and for being the friend I still don’t think I deserve here.
I love you for embracing your dreams and getting chickens.
I love you. I just love you . For you. For all of who you are. ”
Two tears slip down her cheek and nose, and she brushes them away before I can. “Stop. I’m an ugly crier.”
“No, you’re not, but even if you were, I’d love you for that too.”
“Oh my god, that’s a Razzle Dazzle line .”
I blink. “Oh, shit, it is. But I—Fuck. Shit. Crap. Emma, I mean it. I do. I?—”
Her shoulders are shaking with laughter.
“Em—”
“I know,” she gasps between peals. “I know. You’re so—you can’t—not your fault—I mean, it is , since you took the roles, but?—”
I prop my head up on my fist and watch her.
Completely naked.
Laughing with her entire body.
“Don’t be—don’t be mad.” She’s still giggling as she loops a hand around my neck and pulls me down, kissing me softly. “Don’t be mad. I think it’s adorable. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”
“I—”
“I love you too,” she whispers.
Her eyes are dancing. Her mouth—I know I’ve seen her smile this wide before, but it feels brand new.
And she’s stroking my hair while she says it again.
“I love you too. I didn’t want to. But I can’t help myself.
I don’t know anyone who could know you— this you, the you when all of the cameras are off—and not love you. ”
“You love entirely too easily.”
She shakes her head. “Not anymore. But you? You’re worth it. No matter how scary this is, you’re worth it.”
I don’t know if I kiss her or if she kisses me.
All I know is that this is where I belong.
Here, in her bed. With her arms and legs wrapped around me, kissing me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
Like she never wants to let go.
I don’t want to let go.
Ever .
I do—just long enough for her to grab a condom from her nightstand—but no more after that.
Never. Ever. Ever. Letting. Her. Go.
And even with the condom covering me, the moment I finally slide into her body, into her slick, hot center, surrounded by Emma , I’m home.
I am truly, completely, no-question where I belong.
Thrusting into her.
Kissing her.
Stroking her skin.
Teasing her breasts.
Loving her until she’s coming again, squeezing my aching cock so hard that even if I wanted to keep trying to play Superman and hold out, I couldn’t.
And when my own orgasm overtakes me while I’m buried deep inside her, my eyes get hot and my heart swells so thick, I feel like it might choke me.
I love her.
I love her .
I will love her if we have more babies one day. If we don’t. If she gets tired of me and sends me away. If she lets me love her every day for the rest of my life here, in her house, as part of her family.
I collapse on top of her as my orgasm fades, rolling so I don’t crush her, but I don’t go far.
I can’t.
Not touching her—it’s impossible.
“I love you,” I whisper into her hair.
“I love you too,” she whispers back.
And that’s the last thing I hear before I tumble off the cliff into the most solid sleep I’ve had in weeks.