24. Skye #2
He reaches for my hand again. I let him take it.
“I was going to make a fire,” he says, and his voice has that playful edge I remember from when we were kids, “but the local kid said that’s ‘definitely illegal’ and ‘seriously dude, there are park rangers.’”
“So we have s’mores supplies but no fire?”
“We have the idea of s’mores. The spiritual essence.”
“You can’t eat a spiritual essence.”
“You can if you believe hard enough.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. The sound surprises me - loose and genuine and free.
He looks at me like I’m the sunset. Like I’m the ocean. Like I’m every beautiful thing he’s ever seen, wrapped up in one person, sitting on a blanket on a beach they shared when they were kids with nothing but dreams.
***
The moon is rising now. Silver light spilling across the water, turning the waves into liquid mercury.
Jayden sets down the phone - he’s been reading more of the screenplay, occasionally making soft sounds of appreciation that make my heart do stupid things - and turns to face me.
“I should have been the first person to stand up for you,” he says, and his voice is raw in a way I’ve never heard before. “I should have been your loudest defender. Instead, I was the one who broke you.”
“Jayden-”
“Let me finish. Please.” He takes a breath. “I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never feel invisible again.”
The words hang between us, heavy and real.
I’m quiet for a long moment. Processing. Letting myself feel the weight of what he’s offering.
“I loved the boy who promised me the moon on this beach,” I say finally. “I’m still learning to trust the man you’re becoming.”
“Then let me earn it.” He takes my hand, presses it to his chest where I can feel his heart beating, fast and strong. “Every day. For the rest of our lives.”
I look at him. Really look. And I see both of them. The boy and the man. The failure and the fight. The person who broke me and the person who’s trying so hard to be someone different.
“I’m scared,” I admit, and my voice cracks on the word. “I’m scared to let you all the way back in.”
“I know. I’m scared too. Scared I’ll mess this up again.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
The moment stretches between us. The ocean crashes against the shore. Somewhere in the distance, a seabird calls.
“I want to try,” I say finally. “Really try. Not just going through the motions. Actually building something new.”
“Something new.” He smiles, and it’s not the charming media smile, not the CEO smile. It’s real. “I like that.”
“No more CEO. No more trophy wife. Just… us.”
“Just us.”
I turn to face him fully, our knees touching on the blanket. “If you ever make me feel invisible again-”
“You can burn my entire life to the ground. I’ll hand you the matches.”
I laugh. And then I kiss him.
It starts soft - a question, a test - but it doesn’t stay soft. His hand comes up to cup my face, fingers threading through my hair. I lean into him, taste salt and cheap beer and something that’s just him, just Jayden, just the boy I fell in love with eighteen years ago on this exact beach.
***
The drive back to the Malibu house is charged with something electric.
He keeps his hand on my thigh. I keep finding excuses to touch him - adjusting the radio, brushing lint off his shirt, letting my fingers linger on his forearm where the muscles shift as he steers.
By the time we pull into the driveway, I’m practically vibrating.
Not the guest room. Our room.
I’m nervous. He can tell.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he says at the bedroom door. “I just want to be next to you.”
“I know.” I take his hand. “But I want to.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m terrified.” I look up at him, and I don’t hide it - the fear, the want, the desperate hope that this won’t break us again. “But I’m sure.”
We barely make it through the front door.
His mouth is on mine before the lock clicks. My back hits the wall of the entryway. He pins my wrists above my head with one hand and uses the other to tilt my face exactly where he wants it.
“Bedroom,” I gasp against his lips.
“Not yet.”
“Jayden-”
“I’ve been waiting for this.” His voice is wrecked, rough and low in a way that sends heat pooling in my belly. “I’m not rushing it. I’m going to take my time. I’m going to make sure you feel every second.”
He releases my wrists and drops to his knees right there in the hallway.
“What are you-”
“Showing you.” He pushes up my dress. Hooks his fingers in my underwear. Pulls them down with aching slowness. “I spent years not seeing you properly. I’m going to make up for it.”
His mouth finds me.
I have to grab the wall to stay upright.
“Jayden - oh God-”
“I’ve got you.” His hands grip my thighs. Holding me open. Holding me steady. “Let me hear you.”
I’ve spent years being quiet. Polite. Not making a fuss. Taking up as little space as possible, even in my own pleasure.
I’m not quiet now.
I come with his name on my lips and his hands on my hips and his mouth doing things that should probably be illegal in several states.
He stands. Wipes his mouth. Looks at me with dark, satisfied eyes.
“Bedroom now?”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
“I’ll carry you.”
He does. Literally picks me up and carries me to our room and deposits me on the bed like I weigh nothing. And he’s looking at me the whole time - not through me, not past me, but at me. Seeing me.
“Clothes off,” I tell him.
“Bossy.”
“You like bossy.”
“I love bossy.” He pulls his shirt over his head, and I watch the muscles shift, watch the way the moonlight catches the planes of his stomach, and I want to touch every single inch of him. “I love everything about you. I should have told you more often.”
“Tell me now.”
He crawls over me. Presses his body against mine. Lets me feel how much he wants this - hard and insistent and completely overwhelming.
“I love your laugh,” he says against my throat. “I love the sound you make when you’re annoyed with me.”
His mouth moves lower, tracing a path down my collarbone.
“I love how competitive you get about stupid things.”
Lower. His lips brush the curve of my breast.
“I love that you’re smarter than me and you let me pretend I don’t notice.”
Lower still. His tongue traces a path across my stomach, making me arch off the bed.
“I love that you saved yourself. That you didn’t need me to rescue you.”
“Jayden-”
“I love that you’re here anyway.” He looks up at me. His eyes bright. His expression open in a way I haven’t seen in years. “Not because you need me. Because you want me.”
“I want you,” I whisper. “I’ve always wanted you.”
“Then let me show you what that’s worth.”
He spends the next hour showing me.
By the end, I’ve forgotten my own name. Forgotten the gala. Forgotten everything except his hands and his mouth and the way he says “I love you” like it’s a prayer he’s been saving up for years.
***
“That was…” I can’t finish the sentence. I’m boneless, breathless, sprawled across his chest like someone liquefied my spine.
“Good?”
“Shut up. You know it was more than good.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent years not paying attention.” He traces patterns on my bare shoulder, his touch feather-light. “Now I want to hear everything. See everything. Remember everything.”
I turn my head to look at him. He’s watching me with that expression - the one from the beginning. The one I thought was gone forever, buried under years of neglect and distance.
“It was everything,” I say softly. “You were everything.”
He pulls me closer. Buries his face in my hair.
“I’m never going to stop,” he whispers. “Trying to deserve you. Even when I’m old and gray and my back gives out. I’m going to keep trying.”
“Your back’s going to give out?”
“Probably. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“You seemed pretty young just now.”
“Adrenaline. And motivation.” He grins against my temple. “You’re very motivating.”
I laugh. And he holds me. And the ocean crashes outside.
I think maybe we’re going to be okay.
Morning light. Tangled sheets. His arm around my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
I wake up first and lie still, watching him sleep.
The way his face relaxes in unconsciousness, making him look younger.
The way his hand curves possessively around my hip, even in sleep.
The way he shifts closer when I move, like some part of him is always tracking me, always making sure I’m there.
I wonder if this is real. If I’m brave enough to believe it could last.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully, trying not to wake him.
Ellen: So… how was the beach?
I smile. Type back with one hand.
I’m not sleeping in the guest room anymore…
Her response is immediate: About damn time.