Page 80 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“I’m too pissed at you to return the sentiment.”

“It’s too late now, I’m not leaving you for anything. Not ever. I will marry you, Serena.”

“Fine by me, jackass,” I snap as he pulls my jeans and panties off, as I rip at the buttons on his fly. “But I expect a better proposal when the time comes.”

“God, baby,” he cups my face as I wrap around him, his length meeting my soaked middle. “You’re really mine?”

“Been yours since we locked eyes, Thatcher O’Neal.”

“Then fucking tell me,” he demands as he runs his head along my soaked sex.

“I’m too pissed,” I croak as he crushes me with his desperate kiss.

In seconds, he’s lined up with me, pushing inside me inch by delicious inch.

“One day ... you’re going to have my baby,” he declares with ferocity.

“One day,” I whisper back, knowing he means it, feeling he means it as he claims the rest of me in one sure thrust. We both cry out at the feel of our connection as our desire runs rampant. The surreal feel of him, of us. Of our stinging hearts soothed now as he burns through me. I revel in the stretch as I claw his heated skin. My soul skyrockets as he rears back and thrusts in again and again, every single one claiming. Somewhere between fucking and making love, we collide over and over, becoming more solidified. On fire and utterly swept away, we make love all night. In the morning, we lay tangled in one another. Tangled in the hope of the words we spoke. Intertwined by the promises we made and determined by what’s in our hearts to keep them.

“Young, stupid, and in love, but we kept them,” I whisper, staring on at my husband, who breaks down boxes in clean up, his expression full of pride at his handiwork before he grins over at me. I cut the lights a second later to take in the view of both my husband and the snow drift falling in the cabin window behind him.

“What’s that?” Thatch asks.

“I can’t believe we’re still together after all this time.”

“What?” He asks, a little indignation in his tone.

“I mean, we fell in loveso fastand decided on each other almost just as quickly. Made promises and then spent years seeing them through. You were under no obligation to stay in Tennessee when I went back to school. To marry me. Hell, we even waited a while after to have Gracie. We kept those promises because we truly did decide on each other that night. We knew, Thatch, and we meant it, but damn, the odds were stacked.”

“It wasn’t easy,” he utters, seemingly just as reflective.

“Not at all. I powered through years of college. Our first apartment was a shithole thanks to your pride, but we did the damned thing, Thatch. I graduated, and we got married. I can’t stop thinking about the night I stopped you from leaving ...” Tears fill my eyes.

He nods. “I was just there on the ride home.”

“I wonder why this year it’s different, why we’re looking back so much.”

“So when they arrest us for our horrific parenting, we remember the good?” He chuckles.

Not ready to dismiss it, I continue to admire the man I married. “I wonder if you would have left if I hadn’t stopped you.”

“I probably would have,” he says truthfully, and his words sear my heart, but I love that he’s still so honest with me. “But I think I would have come back. I’ve never felt so much for anyone in my life. I knew—even though it scared me—I never would again. If you had let me go, I would have come back.”

“You went from a hardened criminal to a boyfriend, an apprentice to a construction worker, to husband and father. Then, to master contractor and business owner. You’re the epitome of self-made, Thatcher O’Neal. You underestimateyourself, but we didn’t. I’m so proud of you. And you’re right, you’ve really fucking come into yourself this year especially, and God do I love who you are.” I relay as his eyes shine. “But with or without me, you would have become the man you are. I want you to know that.”

“Doubtful,” he whispers, his eyes shining. “You’re so much of the reason I wanted to do better.”

“No,” I rake him. “No, Thatch. I love you for saying it, and maybe you believe that, but I know you would have done it. You’d already abandoned your worthless family and found your passion. Your aspirations were blooming. So, if it wasn’t me, you would have found a woman to grow into yourself with. To believe in you and love you. To see you like I see you.” My eyes water. “How lucky am I that it wasme?”

His shimmering eyes spill over as he shakes his head. “Fuck, Serena.”

“You need to hear this because though you just told our daughter the worst about your past, of what you’re most ashamed of, I couldn’t be more proud of the man I married. I’m so glad it wasme.”

“Baby, stop,” he whispers, shaking his head in denial.

“In many ways, by comparison, you’re almost a completely different man than the one I fell in love with in mere weeks, and somehow, you’re stillmyfavorite version of Thatcher O’Neal.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He utters in exasperation. “You can’t bitch at me for twenty-two years and then say all these nice things at once. It’s too much,” he runs his knuckles on his chest. “Yep, I feel a heart attack coming.”

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