Page 97 of Hidden Memories

The world is still waiting to rip her from me.

I glance down at her. Her hair spills across the pillow,dark and wild, her lashes fanned against flushed cheeks. There’s a softness to her now, a weightless kind of peace, and I swear to God—I’d burn the whole world down to keep her this way.

Peaceful. Safe. Mine.

It takes everything in me not to reach out and trace the curve of her cheek, to remind myself this moment is real. Instead, I stay still, listening to the quiet symphony of the ranch waking up—the nickers of horses in the distance, the faint rustle of wind through the trees, and the steady hum of life beyond these walls. My God, amidst all this chaos, somehow life has never felt so right.

Her eyes flutter open, and when they meet mine, I’m fucking caught. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Morning,” she whispers, her voice husky.

She throws the cover off her side, exposing most of her torso, but she hugs the blanket over her chest, giving me nothing but some side boob. I happily eat every last crumb of the view.

I trail my fingers up her ribs, mapping her skin.

Then I find it.

The space where her tattoo should be.

My heart stops. “Where’s your butterfly?”

She pulls her lips into a thin line.

Motherfucker made her laser it off? He’s lucky he’s dead.

She drapes her arm around me and pulls me close as if to calm me down, knowing I’m about to lose my shit. “I’d love to get it redone. Maybe if this blows over…”

“Whenthis blows over…” I correct.

“Whenit blows over, we could see if Desert Bloom Ink is still open?”

She’s so damn cute some of my anger at him controllingher body drains. I comb my fingers into her dark mane and grasp the base of her skull.

“I’m not sure I have much space left on me,Michi.”

She cups my face and kisses me. “Guess you weren’t lying about loving art just to get in my pants then?” She glances up at the portraits on the walls. “There’s not much room left on your walls either.”

“I loved art then, but you gave me good taste.”

“I did one thing right.” Her gaze lands on my Dalí print with butterflies. “Is this your Monarch Hills room?”

“This is myyouroom.”

She turns my words over in her mind.

I trace my finger on the spot where that inked butterfly I watched her get should still be on her skin. “I named the ranch Monarch Hills so I wouldn’t forget you.” I laugh roughly. “Iwantedto forget you at first. But when I knew that would never happen, I used the idea of you to drive me.”

Kat is the reason I became this version of me. The best version I could be without her.

“Some days I worked my ass off to prove I was good enough for you. Some days I did it to spite you. But in everything I did, there you were.” I kiss the top of her head. “So, I had no choice. I named the place thinking about that corny tattoo of yours.”

She squeezes me hard and lets out the cutest giggle. “It wasn’t corny. I loved it.”

“I’m sure you did. It probably made you feel like a badass,” I tease.

She tuts. “So what if it did?”

“I’m just playing. I knew the minute you started drawing under my tree you were a badass.”

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