CHAPTER 51 #2
I kiss him harder, deeper, until the world fades away and all that’s left is him—his taste, his touch, the way his body moves against mine.
His hand cups the back of my head, tilting my face so he can devour me from a new angle.
I melt into him, lost in the heat of his mouth, the slide of his tongue, the press of his body. The hardness I feel pressing into me.
It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a promise, a brand.
“Fuck,” he growls, his voice rough with need as he pulls back just enough to meet my gaze. His dark blue eyes are nearly black with desire, and there’s something wild in them, something untamed and dangerous. “We’re gonna get my ass kicked out of here, but I could care less.”
I smile, breathless, flushed, my hands still tangled in his hair. “No conjugal visits for inmates?”
He gives that half-growl, half-groan of his. An animalistic, possessive sound that goes straight to my pussy and has me aching.
Placing his forehead on mine, he shakes his head.
“You have no idea how much that makes me want to walk right the fuck outta here.” His hand slides down to my ass, gripping me tightly as he pulls me against him, grinding against me.
I gasp, the heat between us building to an unbearable level.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, one more touch, one more kiss, could send me over the edge.
And God, I want to fall. But tempting him further will only make it harder for both of us to stop.
Patting his chest, I take one small step back and smile, trying to ease the tension. “Soon,” I promise, my voice a low whisper. The weight of that word hangs between us—it’s filled with everything we want but can’t have just yet. “As soon as you get out of here.”
He closes his eyes, breathing deeply, like he’s trying to rein in the urge swirling between us. His hand slides between us so he can adjust himself, as his brow furrows in frustration.
“Four more weeks sounds like an eternity all of a sudden,” he mutters, a wry grin tugging at his lips despite the heat in his voice.
“You can do it,” I say, softer now, with more certainty. I’m trying to be the strong one, but it’s hard. I’m just as wound up, just as desperate for him. But we have to hold out. There’s too much at stake.
He nods, exhaling a long breath. The heat in his gaze simmers just beneath the surface, but it also holds something softer now, too. Gratitude. Resolve.
I grab his hand and brush my thumb over the back of it, grounding both of us in the quiet that’s settled around us.
“Come on,” I whisper, tugging his hand, guiding him over to the bench a few feet away.
The cool fall air helps to soothe some of the heat we stirred up, as does the distracting view of the sunset, which is still painted in shades of azure, amber, and orange.
“I brought you something,” I tell him as I make him take a seat.
He tries to pull me down beside him, but I say, “You’ll see. I have to go get it. I left it in your room. I’ll be right back.” I sense his gaze, the weight of it like an anchor, grounding me, even when I step inside the building.
I grab the box from his bed and carry it back out.
It’s a little worn now, the edges fraying from the years it’s seen, but it’s sturdy enough to hold the collection of his old journals and the letters I’ve written him, the ones I could never send.
It holds pieces of both of us—our pasts, our memories, everything that’s brought us together to begin with.
When I return, curiosity flickers in his eyes as I place the box in front of him on the ground. He immediately runs his hand over the barely sealed top, fingers tracing the edges of the cardboard as if he knows what it contains.
“What’s in here?”
I sit beside him, close enough that our arms rest against one another. “Your old journals,” I say softly. “And… some letters I wrote you.” I feel my cheeks warm as I say it. The vulnerability in that admission hangs in the air, a confession of everything I’ve held back for so long.
He looks at the box for a long moment, as if it’s heavier than it really is. When he finally opens it, his hands tremble just a little, the emotion already building before he’s even seen what’s inside.
“If you’re not ready to do this now, you can wait,” I tell him. “And I don’t mean that in the way it sounds. I just mean, this is heavy. I understand if now’s not the time, especially with the surgery looming.”
He palms my thigh and squeezes it. “I’m okay, Lil’. This is what I’ve wanted for so long. I’m not gonna shy away from it now.”
I move in closer and lean over a bit to point to the journals. “They are in chronological order if you want to start with the earliest one. I also labeled and dated them so you have a bit of a trigger warning in case you need it.”
He chuckles low, throws his arm around me, pulls me close to his side, and places a kiss on my head.
“Thanks, baby. It means a lot that you’re doin’ this.”
Drawing his arm back, he pulls out the first journal. It’s old, the leather worn from years of use. He runs his thumb over the cover, his eyes distant for a moment, as if just touching it pulls him back to another time.
“I used to write in these every night,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, like he’s remembering things that hurt to say out loud.
“I know,” I lean into him, offering him the comfort of my presence as he begins to flip through the pages.
The words are his, but the weight of them feels shared.
He reads in silence for a while, his brow furrowing as he skims old entries about his dad, about the moments that shaped him into the man he is today.
The rawness of his past lay bare on the page between us.
He lays his hand on my leg and squeezes. “I’ll take more time and go through these later, but I can’t tell you what these mean to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He leans down, plucks one of the letters from the box.
One of my letters. His hand lovingly caresses the paper.
He looks over at me, his eyes glassy. For the first time, I see the cracks beneath his strength.
He unfolds the letter, fingers tracing the ink like he’s trying to understand the weight of the words written there.
He starts reading, his voice low and rough as he recites my words.
I slide my hand onto his back and run my palm back and forth.
There’s a tremor in his voice, revealing how much this moment is costing him.
His eyes flick over the lines, taking in every word, his breath catching as he reads my thoughts from years ago—my confusion, my pain, my longing for him.
It’s all there. Everything I never had the courage to say.
The ending is what kind of guts us both.
I trusted you. When you promised me the world, I believed you. I fell so hard and so fast and thought you were going to be the one man in my life who wouldn’t let me down.
That all feels like wishful thinking now.
Like the dreams of a na?ve girl.
A promise is a promise, though, right?
When he reaches the end of the letter, he lets out a shaky breath, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.
He pinches the tears from his eyes. Then he closes the letter and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he places his hand over his mouth.
His shoulders shaking slightly, his breath uneven.
My heart clenches in my chest as I watch him cry and struggle with his emotions, emotions he rarely lets himself feel. He’s never let this vulnerable side of himself show, and it both breaks something inside of me and gives me courage to be just as brave and vulnerable.
“It’s okay,” I tell him.
He leans back and palms my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. His eyes lock on mine. “No, it’s not, but it will be.”
I smile through my tears.
“A promise is a promise, right?” His gaze is soft and full of love.
My heart soars. “Yeah, it is. At least to me.”
He nods, then pulls me in for a hug and kisses my temple. “To me, too.”
“Thank you for trusting me again with your heart,” he chokes out. Pulling back, he presses his forehead against mine. The words are simple, but the weight of them is everything. “I’ll handle it with care. As much as I’m able, for as long as I have.”
We stay like that for a long moment, breathing in sync, our foreheads pressed together, our hands clutching each other like we’re trying to hold on to the only thing that makes sense in the world.
And in this moment, nothing else matters.
I spend the rest of the night, before visiting hours end, telling him our story. My version of it, at least. I don’t sugar coat it. Because what he needs is the honest-to-God truth, and that’s exactly what I give him.
Over the next few days, I tell him the rest—the past he didn’t see coming, the one I was trying to protect him from.
We talk about Deeds, the Greenbacks, why I came here to begin with, the years he missed, like the ones where I danced in Vegas, and we even talk about Veno, and my plans for him and the girls.
I retell him about my past, about my mother’s philandering ways after my father passed away, and my stepfather’s abuse once he moved in.
I even share my most well-kept secret, which is that of my baby sister, who’s a college student at Berkeley and the only member of my family I still keep in touch with.
The only secret I hold close to my chest is Mateo’s, because it will hit Finn hard, and I want to be certain before delivering that emotional blow. It’s also Mateo’s story to tell, but I’m not sure he has enough faith in anyone, including Finn, to come clean about it.