27. Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
London
I learned this morning that the Matei family, despite their loss, were arrested for blackmail, embezzlement, and covering up murder. Both of Micah’s parents are currently in prison until the trial.
The entirety of their estate, including the company, is in the possession of Micah. Ezra’s parents want blood for what Micah did to him. However, they have no case because, despite all the hatred between them, Ezra is refusing to press charges.
The media is buzzing from this story. Between the death of Olivia, the plane crash, and Micah’s miraculous resurrection, he is the most recognizable face on the planet right now.
He’s become the face of tragedy and hope—a miracle. The world worships him as if they believe he is the modern-day incarnation of Christ.
My heart twists with every mile as we grow closer to New Ocean, my stomach coiling as if my phantom hunger pains have returned.
The trees. The trees here remind me of the Arctic. The same tall pines and gnarled branches that covered and surrounded us for miles. While in the depths of those trees, I simply couldn’t see past them. In many ways, I’ll be in their prison for the rest of my life. My body has not yet adjusted to life outside them.
I stare at my phone the entire five-hour drive to New Ocean, thinking I might miss a call or a text from Micah—which is silly because he doesn’t even have my number, and I’m not sure he will be here. From what I gathered on the news, no one has seen him since he returned nearly a week ago. And if Micah was desperate enough to find me, he would find a way.
I can’t imagine getting a text message from him—like we are normal. What would he even say?
My nerves are nearly shattered as we drive into the town I vowed never to return to. I almost ask my mom to turn around twice, and by the time she pulls into the circular driveway of my father’s mansion, I’m nearly drowning in a pool of sweat.
One year. One year on this very day, I was lying on the beach, watching a careless group of teens enjoy their final days of summer. I didn’t belong here then, and I don’t belong here now.
I don’t know why I thought I could do this.
Everyone else has told their story. They sat with that blonde reporter who chased them down, and she peppered them with questions about who turned on who, when it shifted for us, and why we did it. Each of them recounted their versions of the truth, as bullshit as most of it was. As if we might understand the why behind any of it.
She’s relentless in her pursuit. She managed to find my phone number and location just fine, and when she came knocking on our door, my mom told her that if she came near me, she’d scratch her eyes out. Now I know where I get it from.
I hide in my father’s house for the next five days while the media swarms the town, trying to pull any information out of anyone who will talk to them.
My phone doesn’t ring.
I haven’t put makeup on in over two years. Even when I started at New Ocean Prep, I didn’t exactly want to be seen. I’ve spent the last hour readying myself to face the world and attend the first public event since our rescue. I’m ready to be seen and come out of hiding, but I still refuse to talk.
I’m clinging to whatever scraps of hope that Micah might show up for this event, but truly, I’m doing this for Maison. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
I pull on a little black dress and frown as my boobs spill out of it. I adjust them as much as I can and apply some red lipstick. My mom had to help me with my hair because I still can’t use my hand. She curled it in little ringlets and pinned it in a half-updo.
I hate how nervous I am. Micah always witnessed me in my lowest moments, yet now I find myself more concerned with Micah’s perception of me when I am at my very best. It was the broken part of me he fell in love with, and no amount of lipstick will fix the shattered fragments of my being.
Even from the beginning, all I wanted was for him to see me.
“Oh honey, you look amazing,” my mom says as I carefully step down the stairs in my awkward three-inch heels. My dad and stepmom pull up next to her. It’s weird seeing my mom here, but she and my father have been communicating since the day the plane crashed, so it’s weirder for me than it is for them.
My dad arches his eyebrows, likely from the amount of skin I’m showing. “Are you sure about this, London? We don’t have to do this, and you can leave any time,” he says.
My pulse kicks up a beat, and I work to steady it. “Yeah, I’m ready. ”
I’ll never be ready , per se. But I owe it to the deceased to go and honor them. I just hope the world doesn’t discover my secrets as if they were written on my face.
My dad drives us to the tennis club where the wake is being held. It took months for this town to come together. The grief bleeds everywhere. Every park, stone, planted tree, bench, and small shop is a memory for their loved ones lost. It took those months for everyone to come together and grieve while dealing with trials and investigations.
It’s nothing but bricks and mortar for me.
The parking lot is already full by the time we arrive, and the local media is swarming. They aren’t allowed inside, but they will be parked out here all night, so there is no avoiding them.
My heart rate spikes as my parents walk with me in the middle. My dad does his best to hide my face from the cameras, especially because of what I chose to wear, dressed like a pretty monster and hiding the ugliness inside me through designer clothes, frilly updos, and high heels.
The room is filled to capacity, nearly suffocating with the overwhelming crowd inside. Conversations pause, the room falling to a hushed whispers when I step inside.
My mom gives me a reassuring squeeze. “Any time you want to leave…” she reminds me.
Keeping my head held high, the click of my heels nearly echoes, even though there are at least three hundred people here. Slowly, the chatter continues, and I can breathe, no longer having the urge to run like hell. We take a seat at our assigned table, which, unfortunately, is near the front of the room.
Not every face is welcoming—some are curious, some are indifferent, and many stare with innate fascination as if I’m merely an act in a circus. They all think they know me—the new Olivia who captured the heart of their beloved twins.
“You have just as much of a right to be here as anyone else, London,” my dad says as he ushers me to our table. Eventually, the whispers subside, and I nurse my water in front of me and try to catch a glimpse of anyone I recognize.
A certain twin…
I’m not surprised when I don’t see him. His parents are in prison, his brother is dead, and he just came back a week ago after spending nearly a year in the wild. And if caught, everyone will want a piece of him, which I’m sure he hates.
I can honestly say I have no clue what his headspace is like after enduring what he has or what that isolation did to him. I only know what my headspace is like as darkness seeps in, infiltrating my thoughts at every corner.
After a few minutes, a shadow looms over me. I look up from staring down at my feet and see Jade smiling at me.
“It’s nice to see you, London.”
I can’t help it. I lurch up and hug her.
I see a resemblance to her old self in her eyes, but a hardness lingers that will likely never go away. Her body is mostly covered. The scars are still evident, although I can only see them in a certain light. You have to know they are there to really notice them.
Thomas walks up beside her, and I hug him, too.
“You’re still together,” I say, not that I’m surprised. They were always a perfect match. They just needed the island to find each other.
The gleam in Jade’s eye tells me everything. They are still very much in love, and a little wave of envy hits me at how easy it is for them. Thomas’s unwavering presence by her side has obviously played a significant role in her healing journey.
James comes over next, followed by Serena, who gives me nothing but a weak smile. I hug him despite her. Secretly, I stayed in contact with James—mainly just text messages here and there. I also talk to Ezra, who writes letters to me all the time. With his upcoming trial, I doubt he will show up tonight. I can’t help but feel the urge to watch out for him—a very unlikely friendship indeed.
Naomi is nowhere to be found.
James looks me up and down, his eyes lingering on my curves. “You look good, London. How are you holding up? ”
I shrug. “As good as I can, I guess. California is nice, the weather is… warm.” My facade is working. If everyone thinks I am okay based on my appearance, they will hopefully leave me alone.
“If you ever need anything, just call me, okay?” Serena’s eyes flash at his comment.
He steps back with Serena, and I smile at the sight of his clean-cut appearance—the boy next door. James is all grown up now.
It looks like the rest of the survivors are doing much better than I am, still clinging to the ones they had during the winter.
However, the uncomfortable silence compels me to notice the haunted expression in Jade’s eyes. As we lock gazes, the shadows within them sway, unveiling concealed layers of emotion.
She darts her eyes as quickly as she can when I notice it.
The fleeting moment with Jade has passed, but I saw it… She’s as tormented as I am. “Where’s Micah? Have you seen him?” I ask as if they know the answer.
Thomas’s muscles flex underneath his shirt as he places a protective arm around Jade. “No one knows. He’s here, though. He’s staying at the mansion because the lights are on. The media is swarming the perimeter of the house, but no one has talked to or seen him.”
That doesn’t surprise me, either.
With the lights going down, a hush falls over the crowd, signaling the start of the formal program. “It’s good to see you, London,” James says as they dissipate back to their seats.
The presentation is mainly a slideshow of photos of the youth who lost their lives. Picture after picture of pretty girls and handsome athletes, none of them I recognize. As I watch it, vivid images of maggots crawling in their eyes and decaying bodies flood my mind. I recall their blood staining my clothes, and Nigel drinking the tainted water that embodied them.
To die in a plane crash is a statistically rare occurrence. It’s considered a one in a billion event, though it does happen. I remember a story a few years ago where a plane disappeared over the South Pacific. All 280 passengers disappeared, and they never found the wreckage. I suppose we were luckier than they were. Or perhaps we weren’t since they all died on impact, which would have been much more merciful.
Once the presentation ends, the celebration of life begins, and dinner is served—a six-course meal, which is still an overwhelming thought for me. The salad is served first, and the urge to devour it takes over. A low rumble develops in my belly as my mouth waters, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
All this food… All this waste.
I smile sweetly as cameras flash in my face, and I take a careful but small bite of food.
There is a different section in the program for Maison and Ollie. It’s an unspoken understanding among all who are present. There is no photo or honor for Nigel.
The picture of Maison brings an unexpected twinge to my gut. He’s with Micah, and they are fishing, of course. He looks happy; he always looks so happy. Except… I don’t know which one is which because they are both smiling.
After course three, I can’t take it anymore and excuse myself.
I drift outside to get a breath of fresh air just as I remember all the reporters hanging outside. I stop to hide in a dark corner before anyone notices me. My eyes dart to the ladies’ bathroom, but not before powerful hands cover my mouth, and before I know it, I am being pulled into the shadows.
I recognize his smell, his hands, and his gripping fingers, which tickle the curves of my hips and pull me in close.
I close my eyes. “Micah,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”
“Shh, sweetheart, be quiet. They’ll hear you.”
Sweetheart.
I’m surprised they can’t hear my heart beating out of my chest.
I inhale his scent, which still reminds me of the Arctic—smoky, rustic, and woody. I part my lips to speak when a blonde reporter from the news emerges from the bathroom, muttering to herself about finding him, fully aware that he’s here.
He tightens his grip, moving his hands around my waist, his body enveloping mine. My reaction is a mix of pure joy and extreme terror, and I flinch.
He softens his grip and rubs his knuckles up my arm, and I decide not to let Nigel ruin this moment for me. I enjoy the feeling of him—his safe hands, hard body, and muscled abs.
Fuck, I’ve missed him.
The reporter’s heels click down the marble floor and eventually fade into the distance.
I’m shaking as he leans his mouth toward my ear. “You look fucking incredible,” he whispers, his breath grazing my cheek.
I whip around, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit hallway. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, shadows covering his face.
“Is it really you?” I whisper, nearly choking on the cry that escapes my lips. I can’t help it; I run my fingers along his face. He shaved but kept his facial hair. His chestnut eyes blaze down on me.
With Micah’s parents in jail, he is now the sole heir of the Matei fortune, and here he is, dressed like nothing more than a common criminal lurking in the shadows. I reach my hand up and pull his hood down so I can see him properly.
I can’t help but gasp as he clasps his hands around my lower back, pulling me into him as a couple more reporters walk by, the blonde taking the lead. We stand curled into each other, hiding in plain sight.
When I look up at him, he’s grinning at me. He’s actually smiling. His hair is trimmed, too, back to the way it was when I first met him.
He still looks just as sexy—so incredibly dark and sexy.
“What are you doing out here, Micah?” I say when I’m certain we are alone.
He chews on his lip, his intense eyes on my cleavage. He’s not even pretending he doesn’t want to ravish me. “I came to get you out of here. ”
His voice. His voice is what dreams are made of.
My lips twitch into a small smile, my heart still beating against his. “Take me where?”
Where could we possibly go?
He runs his hands along my arms. “With me… You’re mine, sweetheart. Or did you forget that?”
A rush of excitement causes my heart to flutter, and I look around before peering back up at him. “I haven’t forgotten, Micah. I’ve been here waiting for you for so fucking long. You’ve been the one missing.”
He keeps me locked tightly against him, his finger curling around one of my ringlets. “I’m back, London, and I’m not fucking going anywhere. But we have to leave now. Will you come with me?”
I scoff and push away from him. “How many times have you said that to me? And you’ve been back for what… a week? And suddenly, now, during your fucking funeral, it’s imperative we leave immediately?”
Three. Three times, he has promised not to leave me again. At some point, expecting a different outcome is the precise definition of insanity.
It’s how he is; he will come and go at his whim, and no amount of begging on my part will change that. There is no taming him, and if I want him, I have to accept all the dark parts of him. Dominant, angry, loving, and wild. All the reasons why I fell in love with him to begin with.
So, the question is… can I do it again?
“Let’s get out here,” I whisper.
There’s a primal flicker in his eyes as he takes hold of my hand, swiftly leading me toward a nearby exit. “Come on. Follow me.”
My heels barely stay on as I trip over my feet, so he pulls me into his arms like he’s done so many times before. His fingers graze my bare ass cheeks as they hang out of my dress.
Wild. He’s wild, like a child raised in a jungle. There is no going back to the way he was. He will never play by society’s rules. He’ll own me like he owns the woods, and now that he owns half this town, no one can really stop him .
My blood runs cold as voices echo in the hall behind us. I wrap my arms around his neck and shift myself into a more sensible position.
“Micah, this is Maison’s wake. Maybe we shouldn’t just leave. People will talk about it if they see us together.”
He carries me like I’m nothing, even though I’m much heavier than I was before. He takes me to the back of the building and leads me through a side door that leads into the woods, where he has a car waiting—a silver Mercedes, of all things.
He sets me down, pressing me against the side of the car. “Maison would have hated this,” he says.
He’s probably not wrong.
He kisses me hard and fast and with such emotion that it takes my breath away.
I let out a moan, and he pulls his soft lips off mine and runs his fingers over my cheek. “I’m sorry,” he says, out of breath. “I fucking missed you so much.” His teeth scrape my lips as he bites them. “These fucking lips…” He runs his fingers down my bare chest, playing with the strap of my dress before tightening his fingers around it. “I missed your fucking skin.”
I arch a brow and can’t help but let out a weak smile. “My skin? Really, Micah?”
He smirks. “Yes, your fucking skin .”
Voices carry from the front of the building, and Micah reaches behind and opens the door, gently nudging me into the passenger side.
The blonde reporter walks around the corner. “I think they are back here. Grab the camera and hurry.”
Micah slams the door and jumps to the driver’s side right as she and her cameraman come into view.
He peels out right past all the reporters and skids onto the road, leaving them in a cloud of dust. He peers at me, leans over, and pulls my seatbelt across my chest, clipping it in for me. “That bitch used to chase me around when Olivia died, too,” he says. “I’ve gotten good at ditching her. ”
I catch my breath and dare to look at him, worried if I blink, he will disappear. That his voice is nothing but a hallucination, a dream I’ve had for months.
Despite how fast he’s driving, Micah appears relaxed. In fact, everything about him is different. He’s lighter, in a way. Not physically because he’s still the strongest guy I know, but he has a calmness I’ve never seen in him before.
The complete opposite of me, as I’m still burdened by a heavy weight. I can’t help but wonder if he can perceive that or sense that I haven’t been able to truly put myself together despite my facade of hair, makeup, and strappy dresses.
With a soft touch, he runs his fingers along my bare thighs, guiding my legs up over him as he drives. He keeps his fingers on the skin he apparently misses so much. I close my eyes and let myself relax, loving the sensation of his body next to mine.
We pass through the sleepy town. He drives right through it in the dead of night, then turns on a long, windy road in the woods. The silence between us reminds me of how it used to be when we could just be together. A stillness in the dark that brought joy to my soul in an otherwise icy prison. My heart is racing, and I can tell he can sense my tension.
I shoot up. “Micah, my mom. I have to tell her I’ve left with you. She’ll freak out if she finds me missing.” I don’t have anything with me, not even my purse, which I left at the table.
He squeezes me. “London, relax. I’ve taken care of it.”
I have no clue what he means by that, but his response appeases me.
“I’ve taken care of it…” which means, “I’ll take care of you.”
“Micah, what were you doing out there all that time?” I ask him. “Why didn’t you come back with us?” I crane my neck as the car crunches gravel. “And where are you taking me right now?”
What I’m really asking is, why did he not come back to me? Especially when he knew what I went through with Nigel .
His fingers grip my thigh, then he grabs my hand and squeezes it. “We’re almost there, baby. Then I’ll tell you everything.”
I don’t bother pushing him; I know he won’t tell me where we are going. Instead, I rest my head on the side of the headrest and let him rub me as I enjoy the view of him.
Tiny explosions erupt in my stomach. A mix of excitement, hurt, anger, and every other emotion this man has made me feel since I met him and fell in love with him.
He finally slows the car, easing to a stop. “Close your eyes, London.”
“Micah, what’s going on? You can’t just show up and steal me. We need to talk.”
“Close them.”
I let out a sigh and squeeze them shut as he exits the car and helps me out. I don’t dare open them as he loops my arm with his, and I stumble with him over mud and rocks as I’m still in my three-inch heels.
I flinch and pull my hand away. I don’t want him to know my hand is completely useless.
“Micah,” I whisper, “it’s still not better.” Unfortunately, the doctors don’t think it will ever be quite the same.
“I know,” he says as if it doesn’t surprise him. He interlaces his fingers with them anyway. “Open your eyes.” He stands behind me, leaning his chin on the top of my head.
When I open them, I gasp. A two-story log cabin appears through the darkness, warm light spilling from the inside. Tall trees surround a veranda that wraps around the exterior.
My jaw drops from the mere size of it. “Micah…”
“It’s yours, baby.”
I look at him, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I want us to live here together if you still want me. Come on…”
I follow him inside, and the interior is just as gorgeous, with a large open kitchen and a spiral staircase leading into a nook above. Everything is mahogany, and it reminds me of our cabin, but much bigger and newer, but the feeling is the same. I walk into the kitchen, and he presses himself up behind me, wiping the hair from my neck before kissing it .
I tense… I wish I didn’t, but he senses my unease and stops. I’m not sure how I will feel about being intimate again since I’ve not dealt with my assault.
I am fully aware of what Micah wants from me; I’m just not sure I can give it to him in this moment, or ever…
He moves my hair off my bare shoulders and presses his lips to my skin. “I know I hurt you,” he whispers. “I know it will take a long time for you to trust me again.”
I let out a little sob. He has no idea…
“But it doesn’t change how I feel about you,” he says.
I turn to face him, tears stinging my eyes, and he wipes the tears with his thumb as he peers down at me with more tenderness than I’ve ever seen from him.
“I still hear the laughter,” I say in almost a whisper. “Every night, after I dream about you, he comes to me, and he’s always laughing. I can’t get rid of him, Micah. He’s always in my head.”
He pauses, a pained look on his face. I watch the bob of his throat as he processes my words.
“He’s always in my head too, baby,” he finally says. “Remember what I said to you when Maison died? That it’s me and you, and we can kill him together?”
I nod, the memory of that night flashing back to me, and he leans his forehead against mine.
“We did that together, London. We killed him together, and now we can heal together, too.”
The sob I’ve been holding back escapes me. I want to punch him, slap him, then kiss him for the rest of my life. “Where were you, Micah? I needed you, and you didn’t come back.”
He narrows his brows, so much emotion radiating from him. “I realized I needed to heal myself before I could help you. I’m sorry, London. It was a selfish thing to do, but I knew I would only end up hurting you even more. I was fucked up, and what I did to you was fucking wrong. I know that. I shouldn’t have tied you up. I knew that then, too… I just didn’t care. I wanted you so badly, and I was so terrified of losing you. And I was losing you; you were going to leave me. ”
“Micah … I—”
He gently presses his forehead against mine. “Shh, baby, please let me finish. I need to explain why I chose to stay on the island. You were better off without me, and I knew you were safe with the others. Giving you the space you wanted was the best decision for you, and I needed to heal. But please know, London, that all I want is to spend the rest of my life with you. There is no one else for me. I just hope it’s not too late and you haven’t moved on from me.”
I can’t help but bite my bottom lip as I gaze up at him, his face filled with anguish as he envisions a future without me. “There is no one else, Micah. How could I possibly be with anyone else?”
He grabs me by the hips and lifts me onto the low counter. I wrap my legs around him and let him continue.
He drops to his knees so he’s at eye level with me. “I want you to experience me at my best for once. When I met you, too many fucked-up things had happened to me. You’re the right person for me, baby; I just met you at the wrong time. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, London. I wouldn’t blame you if you ran in the other direction.”
And I still love him, despite those parts.
“And now?” I ask him. “How are you now?”
He smiles that new smile. “I’m better now. I’ve dealt with Maison, and I’ve dealt with Olivia. But I’m not ready for our story to be over, baby. The time I spent with you in that cabin was the happiest I’ve ever been. I know that’s fucked up because I was hurting and controlling you, but I would have been happy never leaving that place. I wish I was still there.”
I blow out a breath. “Then why are you back? Why not stay out there if it made you so happy?”
He licks his lips. “The only thing missing was you.”
I lean my head forward. “Micah, I’m not healed. I’m a mess. I can’t be around people. I can barely hold a conversation without feeling like I’m going to crumble. And I still hear laughter when I shouldn’t.”
“It’s okay,” he says, his lips gently touching my forehead. “We can work through it. Trust me, it can’t be as bad as what I went through on the island the last few months. I hit rock bottom, London. ”
I look into his eyes—those dark eyes which seem so full of life now—full of hope.
“Are you healed, then? I can’t imagine being all alone like that.” How dark that must have been for him. I nearly lost my mind being alone for two days. Then again, I was tied up.
“As much as I can be, I think,” he says. “I had to make some tough choices. Like if I wanted to continue living.” He chuckles, a gleam twinkling in his eyes. “But I wasn’t alone. Definitely not alone… although sometimes I wish I was. Maison was with me the whole time, baby. He got me through it.”
I smile because I know exactly what he’s talking about.
Tears form in his eyes. An emotion, I realize, I barely ever get out of him. My heart hurts for all he’s been through, for everything he’s lost.
He swallows hard. “I ran through every memory I had of him. I heard his voice clear as day every day I was there. I’m not perfect, London. I’m still me; I’m still an asshole. I can’t promise I’ll never hurt you again, but I’m way more confident I won’t destroy you anymore.”
I remember what the few days of solitude did to me, the laughter I heard, my hallucinations of Maison that ended up saving my life.
I slip my arms around him and lean my head into him fully. His heart is beating out of control. “What if we don’t work in the real world? I don’t even know how to function anymore, Micah. It’s so hard.”
He tilts his head, moving his hands to my hips. “We’ll do it together. And we will always have this place to come back to. It’s remote, so no one will be here but us. It’s not the wilderness, but we can try to replicate the months when it was just you and me. The rest of the time, we can spend at my mansion.”
His mansion…
“What about your parents?”
He shrugs. “I’ll do my best to help them, but they made their bed. I’m not sure they can avoid prison time for what they did. ”
He leans in and kisses me, his hard body pressing against mine. He pulls my straps down one at a time, and I let him, but the nervous feeling returns, my heart racing. My breath hitches, causing him to pull back.
I hate feeling this way when he touches me. I hate that Nigel won in destroying us.
“I haven’t told anyone what happened to me,” I whisper, and he pauses. Only for a second, though, before continuing to pull the straps down, then pulling me to my feet. I let my dress fall to the floor, leaving me in just my bra and panties. I close my eyes tight as my nerves fire up, and I can feel his stare on my skin. My nipples tighten, and wetness builds like it always does when I’m this vulnerable.
“I’m not going to hurt you or touch you if you don’t want me to,” he whispers. “I just want to see you.”
I nod, giving him permission. “You can touch me, Micah. Just go slow.”
To my surprise, it’s not my breasts he touches, although I am secretly craving it. Instead, he runs his hands from my shoulders and down my arms, grabbing both hands. I open my eyes, and he’s peering down at me, smiling. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. “And mine… I’m never going to let you go again.”
“You said that the last time,” I remind him.
He slips something onto my finger. I look down at the most obnoxious diamond ring I’ve ever seen.
My mouth falls open. “Jesus, Micah. It’s beautiful.” I’m speechless as I turn it and see it shimmer in the dim light.
I can’t even fathom what this cost him.
He shrugs. “I can afford it.”
“When did you buy this?”
“The same time I bought this house. Here, I have something else for you.” He disappears for a moment, and he comes back out with something in his hand.
My leather-bound journal, along with the flower he carved for me when we were stranded. My stomach tightens, and my hand covers my mouth. All my thoughts, feelings, and fears when I was at my worst on that island are in there… so is the love I felt for the twins.
“You found it?” I whisper and peer up at him. “Did you… did you read it?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “It kept me alive, baby. Your words saved my life. It was like having you there with me.”
I run my hands over it, the soft brown leather and the memory of Nigel plopping it in front of me like the arrogant ass he was.
Can I re-live it?
He smiles and passes me something else.
I nearly scream when he hands me my wolf blanket. I rub the blanket over my face, enjoying the soft fur that brought me so much joy. This blanket was the one possession that meant the most to me and the only thing I acquired while I was there. That, and the flower. Somehow, I doubt he brought home my wooden spear.
I’m still admiring the diamond, this house, and everything he is giving me in abundance after spending months with him with absolutely nothing.
He pulls me into him, his eyes not leaving mine, despite my boobs being pressed up in the push-up bra I wore for him—in the hopes of seeing him again. This life he wants me to live sounds perfect, except—
“Micah, I can’t live here. New Ocean isn’t my home. No one wants me here.”
He laughs darkly, that cocky demeanor as if he rules the word. “Don’t worry about what people think of you in this town, baby. Because you are about to become the queen of it. You are about to become the richest woman in New Ocean and probably the richest woman in this entire state. That is if you still want to marry me.”
I smile and look at him—his brooding face—then tug on his gray sweats. “Of course, I will marry you, Micah Matei.”
He kisses me, and I savor the taste of him. “Good answer, baby,” he murmurs against my lips.
Jesus, he sounds like Maison.
“What do we do now?” I ask him.
He kisses my lips, then my cheek, and finally moves to my neck before I stop him. “I’m going to keep you here,” he whispers. “And worship every part of your mind and body until you start feeling better and trust me again. We can take everything slow, London; we are in absolutely no rush.”
A voice deep inside me sings. It sings louder than the dark laughter and despair, easing the gripping panic that constantly plagues me.
A glimmer of hope… my medicine.
“Then what?” I breathe.
A slow smile spreads over his face. “I have a meeting next week, then I need to get back on the ice to train.”
I narrow my eyes with confusion. “Who is your meeting with?”
“The farm team for the NHL. I called them as soon as I got home, and they said they would let me try out. It’s time to get my life back.” He never ceases to amaze me, and that doesn’t surprise me at all. “And when you’re ready, London, I want you to tell your story, but I want you to tell it your way.”
I grip the leather-bound journal, the pages of which contain my story.
The story that’s already written.