Page 2 of The Finish Line

An irreversible scar that will never fully heal, and proof of my weary travels. I’m halfway to the top of the cliff when my phone rattles in my pocket.

Lady Bird is in the nest.

However, I’ve already sensed her nearby. From above, I hear her shout my name as she races through the house, clear panic and excitement in her voice as I begin taking the stairs two at a time, heart thundering.

“I hear you, Mon Trésor,” I reply, hastening my steps, chest pounding, the delicate offering safe in my hand. I will always hear you.

Already choked up with emotion, I nod at the two Ravens standing guard at the back of the property as I pass and enter through the back door. Beau greets me with his typical cock check before he allows me to run my fingers over his ears. I’ve learned to tolerate him over time, despite the fact that he’s still ridiculously territorial over our woman.

“Bonjour, you greedy fucker.”

Of all the planning I’ve done in my life, this is the idea I’ve obsessed most about coming to fruition. But if Beau’s here with her, that means not only did she get my text, but she clearly understood the double entendre.

Meet me at the finish line.

Though I’ve never set foot in this house and have refused to without her, I pay it little attention as I stride past the wrought-iron staircase railing, knowing exactly where I’ll find her. I’ve dreamt this dream a thousand times over the years, and both my heart and head know the way.

A light breeze guides me down the long, Spanish-tiled corridor, past the sand-textured caramel walls. The house is just a few rooms short of a mansion, but fitting enough for a queen.

The details I soak in through passing are few because my sole focus is far more appealing. There’s nothing but fire and need in my hammering chest, which is beating as hard as it was the last time I came to her with a request. Back then, I was just as fucking terrified. Terrified she’d refuse to take me back. Terrified she believed my lies. Terrified I believed them for so long, I convinced myself they were true.

Twelve years ago, I forced her out of my life. In doing so, I lost myself, my purpose, my meaning, and my fucking mind.

Over half of those years I spent without her were due to fear, guilt, and self-condemnation.

Today, I come to her a changed man because of the years we lost and because of the years that brought us here. She may not have believed my lies, but I always believed her truths, believed in her love, in the surety of her heart.

Because she saved me.

Earning her and her heart has been my greatest accomplishment, making it my most prized possession.

A treasure any worthy thief will try to steal.

A treasure many have tried to take and failed. Because I made fucking sure of it. Before, I would never have gloated about such a feat of winning her because of the cost. Before, the guilt made it impossible to make such declarations.

Before . . . was too fucking painful.

I was selfish then, as I am now with her, without much apology, because the need outweighs the guilt—mostly.

After forty-four years of life, I’m positive she’s the only thing I can’t live without.

And for the next forty-four, I will never love another.

She’s loved many. That’s the nature of who she is. It’s what shaped her, but I’ve been greedy with my heart, and it has one sole owner. Nothing has, or could ever, compare to what she stirs inside of me.

My selfishness, my ambitions, my jealousy, and greed almost cost me my future, cost me her.

Since she accepted me back, I’ve spent every single minute of our time together paying penance while biding my time for this day.

Sentence served.

My time is up, and I’m officially a free man.

Which is exactly why I have to find her. Right. Fucking. Now.

Napalm desire, along with the ache in my chest, has me hastening toward her as Beau struts next to me, determined to be the first to seek her affection.

“Fuck off, mutt, she’s mine for the rest of the night.”

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