Page 185 of A Little Complicated

I cup her cheek and run my thumb along the corner of her lips, willing the sadness tainting them to go away. “I’m glad Archer took you.” I push past the hurt accompanying his name as it rolls off my tongue. “That you have those memories with him.”

Leaning into my touch, she whispers, “So am I.”

“And even though he bailed me out that time, too…” I lean closer and kiss her forehead. “He has a habit of doing that, by the way. Giving me opportunities for second chances after I screw up the first time.” I kiss her again and gently pull away. “But I’ve been thinking. If I’m not gonna squander this heart, I won't squander the opportunity to take you to another dance, either. Not when I have the chance.” I push her hair over her shoulders, commanding her full attention. “So, what do you say? Will you go to Homecoming with me?”

Considering my question, she smooths out my suit and rests her hand over my heart. As it thumps against her palm, she tells me, “If I say yes, you’ll have to pretend you’re a grown-up and wear a suit. You hate suits.”

“That’s why I’m wearing a suit right now,” I argue. “To prove I’m capable of acting like a real-life grown-up.”

“Classy,” she notes.

“Right?” My chest puffs up with pride. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware I don’t have quite the suave energy as Archer did when he was wearing one.”

“It’s true. Archer was the king of suits.”

“Hey! You’re not supposed to agree with me!”

Her amusement fills my ears as she points out, “To be fair, you’re the one who brought it up.”

“Yeah, but still…”

“Don’t worry, Mav.” She pats my chest, being careful of my healing incision. “You’re still the Buchanan of my heart…kind of.” Stealing a move from my own playbook, she gives me a wink. “But you know,” she muses, “if I say yes, I’ll have to buy another dress.”

“Exactly.” I start swaying us back and forth. “Maybe this time, you’ll let me into the dressing room so I can help you pick—”

“Not a chance, mister.”

“Fine,” I concede, but only because I know Finley and Dylan will insist on going with her to pick out their dresses. “Does this mean you’ll let me do it right this time? You’ll let me take you to Homecoming?”

Her eyes glaze with an almost crippling concoction of mirth and sadness, but it’s less than yesterday, and it’s all that matters.

Sobering slightly, she says, “Of course I’ll let you take me.”

“That’s my girl.” I brush my nose against hers in an Eskimo kiss, and she sniffs, smiling up at me.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Are you kidding me?” I squeeze her tighter. “I’m the luckiest bastard alive, Goose.” The same tinge of weight carries through the air with my words, leaving me heavy but grateful. Grateful I’m alive. Grateful I’m holding Ophelia in my arms when I was so close to being ripped away from her. Grateful I get to take her to a dance. That my brother watched over her when I couldn’t. That I get to call her mine and live out the rest of my life with her.

Without Archer, I wouldn’t have any of this. My life. My second chance. Every fucking breath and beat of my heart. It’s all thanks to him.

Thank you, brother.

“You and me, Goose,” I rasp. “It’s always you and me.”

“I love you, Maverick.”

My eyes close, and I let her words wash over me, easing the sharp ache in my chest like a soothing balm only she can administer.

I love this girl.

I fucking love this girl.

Every. Damn. Thing. About her.

“I love you too, Opie.”

We both do.

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