Chapter 45
FORTY FIVE
THIS HAPPENED.
He happened.
For a timeless moment, I drift, suspended in the soft cocoon of the duvet. The earlier inferno now a gently glowing ember. My body feels boneless, exquisitely tender, every inch humming with the memory of Matthew’s touch.
I blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the shimmer of moonlight painting the room.
It illuminates Matthew’s profile, peaceful beside me.
The fierce intensity is gone, replaced by a boyish vulnerability in the relaxed set of his features and the disarray of his dark hair.
He’s deeply asleep, his breathing even and slow, one arm flung out as if reaching for me even in his dreams. His hand rests near mine on the sheet.
For a breath, my fingers twitch with the urge to bridge the small gap, but the need to preserve this fragile peace wins out.
My heart swells with an emotion so potent, so overwhelmingly tender, it feels too large for my chest.
The fears, the doubts, the specter of James… they all feel distant, muted by the profound sense of safety, of rightness, that envelops me here. These feelings are too vast, too new. A beautiful, bewildering mix of gratitude and a dawning, fragile hope.
An incredible and equally terrifying shift in my universe.
Holding my breath, I ease myself from the bed, inch by painstaking inch. My gaze lands on our discarded clothes, a messy heap in the shadows. I bypass my dress and reach for his black T-shirt. I pull it over my head, the soft cotton settling around me, falling to mid-thigh.
Oversized.
Comforting.
It holds the unique scent of him like a warm, lingering embrace.
Barefoot, I pad silently out of the bedroom, leaving him to that fragile peace.
The house is still, wrapped in the deep hush of the early morning hours.
Moonlight guides my way, casting long, ethereal shadows that dance with the dreamlike quality of our night.
My steps are drawn, almost unconsciously, toward the glass doors of the backyard.
Driven by a need for quiet air to process the changes settling deep within me.
I climb the two stone steps and slip through the black iron gate, walking to the edge of the glowing pool.
The landscape is a watercolor of pale blue and shadow.
A sliver of a waning moon hangs in the sky with the last stubborn stars.
I drift toward a lounger and sink onto the cool cushion, pulling Matthew’s oversized T-shirt over my folded legs.
I gaze at the turquoise-lit water, a profound calm settling over me.
A stillness that finally lets me breathe.
Peace.
A foreign feeling.
A visitor I haven’t entertained in a long, long time.
My gaze follows the water’s reflection dancing on the arching branches before drifting to the diving board.
The exact spot I fell apart, clinging to Matthew, convinced my life was in ruins.
He held me then, his arms a lifeline. Tonight, those same arms held me in a shared inferno of passion, of belonging.
There you are.
The words echo.
The same words he said that first night, after he glimpsed the broken woman beneath the wig. He saw me then, just as he saw me hours ago, stripped of the dress I’d chosen as armor.
Twice now, he has looked past my disguise and simply seen me.
No judgement.
Only a disarming, tender understanding.
So much has happened since the very first time I sat out here with him.
So much has changed.
A small smile touches my lips as a soft breeze whispers past, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint promise of dawn.
It feels like the whisper of a new beginning. A quiet sunrise stirring in my heart.
A faint metallic squeak, followed by the soft clink of a latch, breaks the stillness.
My head turns sharply toward the sound. Even in the dim light of the moon, there’s no mistaking the tall, bare-chested figure now stepping through the opened gate. My heart gives a startled leap, then settles into a quicker, heavier rhythm at his sudden presence.
Barefoot, Matthew closes the gate behind him and moves with lithe grace across the smooth concrete.
His black sweatpants are slung unbearably low, his gaze already fixed on mine.
His hair is endearingly rumpled from sleep, a soft contrast to the hard planes of his body.
The faint moonlight seems to cling to his skin, tracing the lean muscle of his chest and the sharp line of his shoulders, making him look like something carved from the night itself.
I see the lingering traces of exhaustion around his eyes, but also a searching concern in their depths as they meet mine.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. Rough with sleep, but very gentle.
I shake my head, unable to find my voice just yet. I am suddenly very aware of wearing his T-shirt. Of our shared intimacy. Of him standing there so beautifully, vulnerably real.
He nods slowly, as if understanding without needing more words. His gaze drifts from my face to my bare legs, softening with a hint of that breathtaking tenderness from the bedroom. He moves to the deck box near the corner of the fence, lifts the lid, and pulls out a fleece throw.
Closing the distance, he sweeps his hand gently over my hair before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of my head. Straightening, he eases himself onto the lounger behind where I’m perched. He rests his back against the inclined cushion, his legs straddling its width.
Matthew pats the space between them. “Come here, love.”
Love.
Again, that word. So full of gentle possession in his raspy voice. It makes my breath hitch in response.
Still moving in a dazed, dreamlike state, I shift from the edge of the lounger to settle into the space he’s created.
I turn sideways, drawing my legs up to drape them over his right thigh.
The back of his left knee becomes a perfect brace against my lower back, allowing me to sink into the secure cradle he’s formed, my side nestled against the solid warmth of his bare chest.
He reaches for the throw, shakes it out with one hand before draping it over us, cocooning us in shared warmth. My head finds its natural resting place in the curve of his shoulder, and I let out a long sigh, sinking completely into him.
I feel safe.
Protected.
For this one moment, in the silver-blue stillness of his backyard, the world and its relentless demands can’t touch us.
We sit in a comfortable, profound silence for a long time.
The only sound is the gentle sigh of the breeze through the leaves of the trees at the far end of the yard.
Matthew’s chin rests lightly on the top of my head, his arms a warm, secure cage around me.
I can feel the steady, slow beat of his heart.
A rhythm that lulls my pulse into a state of quiet grace.
I shift just enough to tilt my head back. I study his face. The firm line of his jaw and the way the faint moonlight catches the curve of his lips. He’s looking out at the pool, his expression thoughtful, almost distant.
“Matt?” My voice is barely a whisper, tentative. “About that morning…” My heart starts to thump a little harder. “In your kitchen…”
His eyes find mine. I see a flicker of understanding, and the shadow of the same pain I feel.
He inhales a sharp breath, his lips parting to speak. At the exact same moment, the words tumble from me in a rush of urgent need. “I’m so sorry—” I say, just as he murmurs, “I am so—”
We both stop. A beat of startled silence. Then a soft, choked chuckle escapes him, and a wobbly smile touches my own lips.
His arms tighten around me, pulling me back against him. “Before you say anything… I am so, so sorry. I was out of line.”
I feel the shudder that runs through his powerful frame, a sudden tension that wasn’t there moments before.
He shifts, his hand coming up from my waist to gently cup my cheek.
His thumb tilts my chin, the pressure insistent until my gaze, still swimming with unshed tears, lifts to meet his.
His expression is earnest, filled with a profound regret that mirrors the ache still lingering in my chest.
“The fear I saw in your eyes because of how I reacted… it gutted me.” The confession makes his voice gravelly.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” I counter softly. “I wanted to hurt you back.”
“God.” He shakes his head, his eyes haunted. “I never meant to hurt you like that.” He swallows, and I see the muscle in his jaw work, as if his words are hard-fought. “I was processing so much, too much, that morning.”
His thumb strokes reverently across my cheekbone. His gaze is so intense it seems to see straight into my soul. And in those unguarded depths, I see him laying his own soul bare in return.
“What we shared that night,” he begins, the words themselves a caress. “It was…” He trails off, shaking his head slightly, as if no single word is adequate.
He takes a shaky breath, his eyes filled with a vulnerability I’ve never seen before. “It meant everything to me, Amy.”
Everything.
The single word isn’t just a word; it’s a key turning a lock deep inside me I didn’t even know had rusted shut. It’s a profound rightness that settles in my marrow. The last shadows of doubt disintegrate under the gentle weight of his truth.
A promise.
His vulnerability is a warmth that spreads through my veins. A startling, life-giving heat. But that warmth immediately collides with the cold poison of my own cruel words. Of that careless, wounding comparison I flung at him in the café.
And the two ignite.
The warmth becomes a burn of a different kind.
An agonizing fire of shame.
I look at this man who faced down my ex-fiancé, who offered to shoulder my crushing burdens, who just tore open his own scarred soul for me…