Page 22 of It's Always Us

Mark scoops me up and carries me over the threshold of the hotel room, drops me on the bed, then falls onto it next to me.

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Sandberg?”

I scoot closer to him, unable to get enough. “Eh, it’s ok.”

He rolls, the entire weight of his body pressing down on mine. “Take that back,” he glares, that playful stare sending rockets off inside my belly.

I try not to smile. “Fine.” I study him, noting the thin lines around his eyes. “Like it’s too good to be true,” I whisper, afraid if I say it any louder, it’ll all come to an end.

It’s as if this is all some crazy dream that I’m going to wake from and have to go back to living without him. He rolls to the side, and I bury my face in the chest of the man who’s molded his body to help him become the best quarterback in the NFL.

His arm slides around me, pulling me closer. Our legs tangle, and my body is flush with his. I want to stay like this, hidden and safe, savoring that he loves me and we’re joined together forever. I halt the questions about tomorrow from forming. I’ve waited my entire life for this night with him and spent years trying to accept I’d never have it.

Mark kisses the top of my head and runs his hand down the length of my loose hair. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I inhale, filling my lungs with his spicy, clean scent. It used to be the distinct smell of the cheap bar soap the group home supplied. “I can’t believe I’m here with you,” I whisper. “I wish . . . I wish I could go back and do things differently. I’m sorry I didn’t . . . I was . . . ” All the emotions of the past few days overwhelm me, and a tear slips down my cheek.

His long fingers spread over the small of my back. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I was asking and what it would’ve been like for you. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being, but for a long time, I just thought—”

“You would’ve never made it if I hadn’t let you go.” I run a finger over the long scar above his right eye, still wanting to erase all the pain that put it there.

The warmth of his body dissipates as he pulls away slightly. His finger lifts my chin upward, forcing my eyes to his.

“I don’t believe that. I carried you with me every day, hoping I could be what you wanted again.”

More tears spill over as guilt punches me in the stomach for ever letting him think I didn’t want him.

“Mark, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t go with you, and I couldn’t live with myself if I was the thing that prevented you from achieving your dream. You needed to be free . . . from everything.” I pull in air, willing myself to hold it together. “I couldn’t let anything get in your way. You needed to get out of there and have a chance at everything you worked so hard for. Everything you deserved.”

“Shhh.” He wipes my tears away with his thumbs. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s us now. We don’t ever have to go back to that.”

I sniff, unable to stop my next question from forming and slipping out. “What happens tomorrow?” I peek up at him, his dark eyes intense and set on me.

“I don’t know.” His honesty is both reassuring and awakens a new wave of anxiety about what we just did and what’s to come. “I want this night with you. Just the two of us, where nothing else matters.”

He pushes a strand of hair out of my face, and I lift up to press my lips to his. His fingers slide further into my hair, holding me there. His mouth takes over mine, and my hands find the hem of his shirt and tug.

He releases me to pull his shirt over his head in one swift motion, his fingers instantly moving to the zipper on my sweatshirt and then easing me up to remove my tank top underneath.

His hands cup my face, his eyes holding mine. “I was tested during my preseason physical, and it’s been a very long time. I’ve always used protection.”

My eyes roam his face, seeing the truth of his statement. “I’m on the pill.”

Left in nothing but my black bralette, his eyes rake over me as a small smile tugs at his lips. “You are even more beautiful than I remember.”

I can only stare at the man before me. His smooth chest is chiseled with muscle, but his ribs are marked with . . . I narrow my eyes, trying to read the black script lettering. I sit up, carefully lifting my hand to run my finger over the words.

Perhaps your love will make me forget all I wish not to remember.

My eyes jump to his as he watches me, remembering the words he read. Alexandre Dumas.The Count of Monte Cristo. Those words. The nights we lay in the grass dreaming about what might be. The very words I’ve held onto all this time, needing to make them true for him. Loving him enough to allow him to live without ever having to remember.

“It’s only ever been you that could make me forget.” His voice is low and ragged.

My eyes flick between his, and I see the honesty of his words. The need for him overwhelms me. The same need since I kissed him goodbye all those years ago. It’s never wavered. Never faded. Not even a little bit.

I climb to my knees, my hands gliding over his chest to his neck, pulling his mouth to mine. His tongue swipes against mine, stealing my breath.

Warm, sure hands slide up my spine as he lowers me to the bed, the weight of his body pressing down on me. My fingers dig into his back, keeping him close.

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