Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Ledger
You know what I think is the perfect life? Me, Gale, and sex every morning before we even think about getting out of bed. Add a pot of coffee brewing in the background and maybe some bacon sizzling on the stove. Honestly, it can’t get better than that, can it?
I check on the bacon, flipping the strips with practiced ease while the coffee maker hums quietly, the first drops of caffeine promising to do their magic. The pan of eggs is coming along nicely too, scrambled just the way she likes them—soft but not runny.
And then, out of nowhere, Gale’s voice cuts through the comfortable rhythm of the kitchen, soft but clear.
“I think I’m happy,” she says.
The words stop me mid-motion. I glance up, my hand still holding the spatula, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at her.
She’s leaning against the counter, her hair spilling over one shoulder in that effortless way that somehow drives me insane. There’s a mug cradled in her hands, steam curling up around her face like a scene straight out of a goddamn painting. Probably tea because she ordered more of that jasmine lavender she brought from Luna Harbor.
But it’s her expression that gets me—a softness I rarely see, mixed with something raw, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to feel this way, let alone say it out loud.
“Even with all this mess,” she continues, her lips curving into a hesitant smile, “I’m truly happy. Yes, there’s worry, but also peace. I feel safe with you.”
Safe. The word echoes in my head, sinking deep and settling somewhere I didn’t know was still so tightly wound. She feels safe. With me.
I turn off the heat on the eggs and step closer, the spatula forgotten as I wipe my hands on a dishtowel. For a guy who’s spent his entire life thinking safety was just another word for boredom, hearing her say it feels like the biggest victory of my life.
“Happy, huh?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend, trying to play it cool even though her words are hitting me like a freight train. “Even with guards stationed outside and all this chaos around us?”
Her smile widens, the shyness melting into something brighter. “Even with all that. Because it’s not just the chaos—it’s you. It’s us.”
Fuck. If she doesn’t stop talking like that, I’m not sure I’ll survive breakfast.
I step closer and brush a strand of hair back from her face. Her skin is warm under my fingers, and I let my hand linger for a second longer than necessary.
“It’s us, but just because I’m convenient, right?” I murmur, half-joking, though there’s no denying the intensity of what I’m feeling. “Still, I love you.”
She laughs softly, the sound wrapping around me like a goddamn lifeline. “You’re not funny, Ledge,” she teases, but her eyes are searching mine, like she’s trying to figure out if I feel it too—this thing between us that’s too big, too real, to ignore.
“I think I’m happy too,” I admit, my voice quieter than I expect. Years ago, I couldn’t get out of this town fast enough, running for my life because I never knew how bad it would get the next time my father stumbled home too drunk. Yet here I am, standing in this kitchen with a woman I adore as my wife, the smell of coffee in the air, and actually thinking about becoming the next coach for the town’s team. “And for a guy who didn’t even believe in happy a few months ago, that’s saying something.”
Her breath catches, and she sets the coffee mug on the counter before stepping into my space, her hands sliding up to rest lightly on my chest. “So, what do we do now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like we need to mark this with a celebration.”
I lean in, my forehead resting lightly against hers. “For now we keep going,” I say, because I do feel like we need a celebration. That wedding she wants in Italy where it’s just us exchanging vows and promising everything—this time because of love. It’s something I need to plan, and it’ll happen, but for now . . . “We figure this out. Together. Because whatever this is, Gale—it’s ours.”
She smiles, her hands curling into the fabric of my shirt, and in that moment, with the smell of bacon in the air and her warmth pressed against me, I know without a doubt that I’d burn the whole world down to keep this. To keep her.
“I love you, Mrs. Timberbridge. Forever,” I say, my voice low and full of everything I’ve been too afraid to say until now.
Before she can respond, I crush my lips to hers, pouring every ounce of what I feel into the kiss. It’s not gentle, not tentative. It’s raw, consuming—like I’m handing her my soul and daring her to hold onto it. Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and it feels like the world narrows to just us.
If forever exists, it’s here. It’s now. It’s her.
And I’ll fight like hell to make sure it stays that way.