Page 16 of Give Me Forever Love

After a shower, I put on some jeans and a plain white tee. I look in the mirror at my reflection. I’m tan from the sun, but my eyes are tired and puffy from crying. I dry my hair before pulling it back and exiting the bathroom.

I have no idea where we go from here. What’s to be expected. It’s all driving me mad. I tread back down the stairs, my eyes landing on the coffee table. Mary put the bourbon away, and there’s a cup of steaming coffee with Lee Grant sitting on Bryce’s couch.

“Hey,” I say, entering the living room. Mary busies herself in the kitchen.

“Hey darlin’,” he replies. “You all right?”

I shrug, grabbing my phone from the table.

Still no calls.

I exhale.

“The lawyers are working on getting Bryce out. He’ll have a bail hearing today.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means the judge will determine if Bryce will be released while he is on trial.”

The judge.

My mind goes back to our conversation yesterday.

Maybe because Bryce doesn’t have a record and hasn’t done anything like this before he’ll be able to come home?

The thought of having him home has my heart standing and wanting to freshen up.

Go wash your face, girl. We need to look good for our guy.

I roll my eyes.

Bryce can take me as I am.

His illegal gambling has taken years off my life. “I’ll be outside,” I say, walking to the balcony door. I slide it open, the warm morning air brushes over my skin, and the sun smiles down on me.

I take a seat on the lounge chair, my mind going back to a time Bryce was at one of his low points. He was drunk out here, hurt over the woman inside his house now. It was a raw moment between us.

He lazily holds the bottle beside him. “You should get out while you can,” he says to me as he brings it to his lips and takes another swallow.

I reach out and gently grab it from him. Bringing it to my own lips, I take a sip, wincing as the harsh liquor goes down my throat. I want him to know we’re in this together. If he drinks, I drink. If he’s sad, I’m sad.

I place the bottle down beside us. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He narrows his sad blue eyes. His face holds a five o’clock shadow, and his hair is growing out. The wind blows, and I can smell his scent—bright vivid green, forest spice.

He’s all man. He’s all mine.

He’s fucked up mentally and emotionally. But so am I. We’re two of the same. I know more about his life now. I understand why he is the way he is, and I care about him no less.

In fact, I care about him more.

Standing and careful not to kick the bottle over, I turn and lift my leg, placing it over his waist on the other side of the chair, straddling him. His hands go to my hips, and he looks up at me.

Splashed in glowing moonlight, he looks beautiful, and I lean down and touch the side of his face as I kiss his lips. His hands tighten their hold on me, and he kisses me back, sitting up.

He moves my shirt up as he lightly rubs my skin while our tongues taste and lick. It’s slow and meaningful; it’s earth-shattering and soul-searching.

We don’t rush anything. We don’t go any farther.

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