53. Jensen
53
JENSEN
The next morning, when I pull into my driveway after dropping off clothing donations, Maisy’s waiting on the steps of my front porch. With our eyes locked in a stare, I climb out of my Jeep and move toward her. Even with Javi and Trevor’s confidence backing me, my uneasy gut doesn’t have a clue how this reunion is about to go down. When I reach the bottom step, I tuck my hands in my pockets and lean against the railing.
“You stopped writing,” she says, trailing a finger along the edge of the notebook in her lap. One of my notebooks. “But you didn’t set me free like you said in the last letter.”
I blow out a breath and resist raking a hand through my hair. “I tried, but not loving you is impossible for me.”
Worry grips my chest when she doesn’t respond. I study her face for the smallest hint of what she’s thinking, but find nothing. When she sets the notebook aside and looks up at me again, her hazel eyes glisten in the late morning sun.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Better now.” Always better when you’re near me.
“That’s really good to hear.”
Our gazes remain fixed on each other as silence blankets us. Her relaxed features mimic the ease I feel in my soul whenever I look at her, sit beside her, breathe her in.
She’s not wearing makeup today, the sixty-three freckles across her nose and cheeks on display. I counted them while she slept once, an act I’m not ashamed of, but I’ll keep it to myself.
When the silence goes on for too long, I make a confession. “I didn’t stop writing, actually.”
Eyebrows drawing together in confusion, she asks, “There’s more?”
“One more.” I retrieve the folded paper from my back pocket and offer it to her. “I wrote this one yesterday.”
Chewing her lip, she considers taking the letter but doesn’t. “Can you read it to me?”
Shit. Reading aloud isn’t usually a challenge for me, but I’m nervous as hell. With a thundering pulse and shaky hands, I unfold the paper, clear my throat, and begin.
“Birdie. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to lose your trust and make you question whether I really love you. I do. My love for you is deep, unconditional, and endless. I could make excuses for my actions and blame them on my fears, but I won’t. The last time we spoke, you told me to ‘man up and own your shit,’ so I’m taking responsibility for all my wrongdoings.
“I’m sorry for tracking your phone and invading your privacy. And I’m sorry for showing up at places uninvited and taking away your choice to talk to me. I’m sorry for recreating your childhood bedroom, but I’m not sorry for holding on to your things when Vera tried to throw them out without telling you. I’m sorry for hiding the extent of my struggles from everyone, especially you. I’m sorry you have to get the worst of me to get the best. I’m working on making my worst a little better, and I hope you can forgive me enough to stand by me as a friend. If that’s as far as we go, I’ll accept your decision and be grateful to still have you in my life. Above all, our friendship means the world to me. It’s the one thing I never want to live without. So I’m asking you, birdie, will you forgive me and be my friend again? Yours forever and always, J.”
Maisy leans on her hands. I don’t know what to make of her casual demeanor, but at least she’s not running for the hills. “That was a long letter,” she says.
“I have a lot to apologize for.”
“You were eloquent in your delivery. Gold star.” The corners of her mouth twitch, and mine do the same.
Calmed by her humor, I fold the letter and return it to my back pocket. “So? Friends?”
She hums and says, “I don’t know. You may not want to be friends with me after you hear what I have to say.”
Pushing off the railing, I stand taller and search her face for meaning. She extends a hand, and I pull her to her feet. Her smooth skin touching mine again brings me so much relief, a shaky exhale flows from my lungs.
“Explain.”
“Everyone kept me updated on your progress. I’m so proud of you for getting help, Jensen. And for putting yourself first. I can see positive changes in you already. But something’s still missing.”
“What’s that?”
Her shrug is small, her smile shy. “Me. You’re the most important person in my life—the man I love. And I want to be by your side, walking this journey with you.”
A sob builds in my throat, so I rub a trembling hand across my mouth to hold it in. “You love me?”
“My whole life.”
The sob breaks free. “Tell it to me straight?”
“I love you, Jensen Holloway, and I wasn’t born to be just your friend. You said it yourself, I’m your everything. And you were born to be mine.”
She smiles—big and beautiful—as the truth spills from her eyes and trails down her cheeks. Tears coat my own skin, and I do nothing to hide them or wipe them away.
“I love you so much, birdie. Please don’t ask me to stop.”
“I won’t. You’re stuck with me now.”
Hands on my hips, I nod and sniff repeatedly while building the courage to ask for what I need. “Can I hold you?” Please. I need to feel you.
She shakes her head, dashing my hopes, but I recover when a wry grin plays at her bare lips. “You never have to ask again.”
Closing the distance between us, I hop up two steps and lift her with my arms around her hips. Eye to eye, I carry her inside the house.
Maisy Donovan said she loves me. This is the happiest day of my life, and I need to turn the mood around quick before I bawl like a baby.
She runs her hands across my shoulders and down my chest, smoothing the fabric of my shirt. “Green looks good on you. It makes your eyes shine brighter.”
“Freckles look good on you. They make you look like my Maisy.”
Her smile grows bigger, and I hope she never stops looking at me like I’m the reason she’s happy. “I think we’re obsessed with each other, if I’m allowed to use that word.”
“I think we are. And fuck anyone who judges us. No one gets to tell us how to love.”
“No one,” she agrees.
She steals my lips in a punishing kiss, our fight for dominance arriving in full force. I set her on the kitchen island and stand between her legs. She licks and bites along my neck, turning me all the way on, but I can’t let things go any further.
“Wait,” I say, gently gripping her arms.
With great reluctance, I pry her off me, and she groans in protest. Her shoulders slouch, and the most adorable pout forms on her lips.
Cupping her flushed cheeks in my hands, I explain. “As much as I want to rip your panties off and bury myself inside you, I think we should take things slow. Go on a date with me.”
We went from former friends to lovers overnight because I pressured her to be with me. We skipped all the building stages of a relationship. Since she’s never been in one, I want to give her the full experience and allow us to progress naturally. She deserves dinners and flowers and long conversations with no expectation for more.
She digs her heels into my ass, drawing me closer and testing my resolve. “I love that idea. Will you hold my hand at the movies? Or we could walk arm in arm through the park.”
Rubbing her thighs, because I have no plans to stop touching her, I say, “If you’re trying to start a scandal, we could share a milkshake at the café. Maybe use the same straw.”
“Now you’re talking dirty just to mess with me.” Her teasing expression turns earnest when she drapes her arms around my shoulders and plays with my hair. “I like the idea of going slow. We have a lot to work on, and we need to set some rules. I accept your apology, but you have to promise you’ll respect my boundaries from now on. If there’s anything you struggle with, be open and honest about it, and we’ll find a compromise. And I’ll work harder on being open with you.”
“I can do that.” I brush my lips against hers once, twice, three times. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you. For staying.”
Her soft, sincere gaze imprisons mine, and I’d gladly remain her captive forever. “You’ve always believed in me, J. I’ll prove how much I believe in you too. And the best place to start is right here, where I belong.”
Excitement floods my veins. “You’ll move in with me? All the way in?”
“I packed my bags weeks ago.”
The flesh I’m kneading with my fingers reminds me of our new restriction, and I groan. “Damn, it’ll be hard to not have sex if we’re living together.”
Her eyes twinkle with confidence. “It’s a good thing I’m stubborn. I’m the queen of holding out.”
Don’t I know it. She held a grudge for nearly half her life without batting an eye. A few weeks of abstinence should be a piece of cake for her, but I’ll have a hell of a time keeping my hands to myself.
After sealing our deal with a deep, meaningful kiss, I say, “Let’s go get your bags, birdie. Our future starts now.”