Page 148 of Better Late Than Never

Though there was still a lot of work left to be done, therapy had done a lot to settle me into this relationship. It had also done wonders for my PTSD. My therapist specialized in trauma for veterans and first responders, and over time, we’d worked through some of mine. She’d started me on a medication to help with anxiety, and the difference had been night and day. It wasn’t a magic cure-all, but it helped with the nightmares and the occasional panic attack.

I also hadn’t realized just how much anxiety I’d had on a daily basis. I’d always thought I was pretty chill and relaxed, but once the meds took hold—holy shit. I suddenly realized how much low-grade anxiety I’d always had in the background, as if I were constantly on edge, waiting for a panic attack to hit me out of nowhere. Between the prescription and the coping methods, not to mention our sessions digging apart my trauma, I was starting to feel close to normal again. Normal enough that I could function, anyway.

She’d also helped me dig into some of the issues with my family. That was tricky—we had a pretty good relationship, and I’d been afraid to jostle that by bringing up something that was bothering me. With her help, though, I finally had. I’d gently explained to my parents that it hurt how little they came to see me. My sister had been upset over that, demanding to know why I thought they should give up a visit to their grandkids to come see me, even though that wasn’t what I’d suggested at all. In her mind, taking the time and spending the money to visit me meant cutting into time and money that would be spent visiting her and her kids. She and I were low-contact for the time being while we slowly ironed that out.

My parents and brother had been more receptive, fortunately, and we were steadily working on things. They’d come to visit me earlier this year—my parents as well as my brother and his large family—and we’d all had a great time. My dad even admitted he regretted not coming to see me in Spain, both because they’d missed the chance to see Spain, and because they’d missed my retirement ceremony.

It was progress. I’d take it. Maybe my sister and I would someday end up back on the same page too.

For the time being, I was living in Corpus Christi. It hadn’t been my first pick, but the cost of living was low enough that I could live off my Navy pension while I worked a civilian job at the naval hospital. I was also using the GI Bill to go to school and get all the certifications necessary to work as a radiology tech in the civilian world. After I graduated next month, I could figure out where to live in the long term.

I stole another glance at Connor.

Is it too much to hope that I’ll live with you someday?

Maybe. And all those nagging voices jumped in to tell me all the reasons it would never happen, but a calmer voice chimed in to remind me that Connor was here, I was here, and he’dwantedme here. That was a good sign, and I should take it as such.

I had to fight a smile as hope pushed some of that habitual worry aside.

Damn. Therapy’s working better than I expected.

Life was good, even if the long-distance thing was tough.

That distance wasn’t an issue tonight, though. We were both here, and after the wedding was over, we’d have a week to spend together before we had to return to our respective jobs.

Dinner wrapped up, and then there were the usual trappings: cutting the cake, the bouquet and garter tosses, and the first dance. We all laughed when Savannah’s bouquet snagged on a chandelier before tumbling into the outstretched arms of one of her bridesmaids. Landon pretended to be exasperated over his girlfriend’s excitement that he’d caught the garter, but we all saw right through him. Everyone but her knew by now that he’d already bought a ring.

Connor was all smiles as he watched Quinn dancing with Savannah, and then sharing a dance with his mother. If there was still any animosity between Connor and his ex-wife—and I didn’t think there was much, if any—they kept it well beneath the surface. He even mentioned her in his toast, saying how proud they both were of their son and how thrilled they were to be welcoming Savannah into their family. They may not have been post-divorce besties, but as ex-spouses went, they did all right.

And then…

Then Connor took my hand, smiled, and tipped his head toward the dancefloor. I froze for a second, disbelieving he really wanted to do this.

He wanted to dance with me. At his son’s wedding.

I let him lead me out onto the floor, and suddenly there we were, his cheek against mine as we moved with a song I couldn’t hear over my racing heart.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I know it was a hassle to get here, but… I’m glad you came.”

“Me too.” I drew back enough to meet his gaze. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

His smile was so damn sweet and cute. “Is it just me, or is it still a novelty that we can do things like this openly now?”

I laughed, my head spinning. “No, it’s not just you.”

“Okay, good. So I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Connor rolled his eyes, then kissed me lightly before resting his cheek against mine again. I sighed happily and enjoyed the moment. Holding him. Touching him. Being out in public with him.

Being so ridiculously in love with him.

And just like I had so many times over the past three years, I sent up a little prayer that this really did have some staying power.

Is it too much to ask for this to be forever?

As more guests crowded onto the dancefloor and the music turned to something faster and louder, Connor leaned in and whispered, “I could stand to get away from all this noise for a bit. How about you?”

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