Page 70 of What I Should Have Felt

“Anything would be inadmissible in court anyway, seeing as it’s been fifteen years,” I quipped back, feeling a soft weight leave my shoulders.

“I don’t think it quite works like that, but I’m also not just talking about growing up, Ford.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch and slid sideways so she was facing me straight on.

Leaning back, I stared at the wall across from us. “What are you accusing me allegedly of doing?”

She giggled. “You know what I’m talking about, Rougarou.”

I gasped and let my jaw drop in overexaggerated shock as relief flooded my figure. She knew. She’d already known. For how long, I didn’t care; it was nice to know that she wasn’t pissed at me. “You know what will happen if you speak that name out loud!”

Her smile widened. “I think the curse would be much less than whatever fate you face impersonating it.” I finally looked at her, and the crinkles at the edges of her eyes softened. “Thank you for finding a way to take care of me, no matter how awful I’d been to you. I’m not great at accepting help.”

I studied her for a moment, soaking in every freckle that dotted her cheeks, every eyelash that curled upwards and brushed against her eyelids. Every imperfection that had never looked so perfect upon a face danced in front of me as delicately as the petals of a flower just coming into bloom.

“I’m surprised you’re not a little upset about it,” I muttered, and she rolled her emerald eyes.

“I was, for only a moment, until I realized why you did it that way. And when another dude stabbed you with my knives that he stole, then I was no longer mad at you but at him, because no one stabs you but me. With those knives anyway,” she answered with a twitch of her lips.

“Oh, so if I hadn’t been stabbed by that guy, you’d still be mad at me?”

“Obviously, because I wouldn’t have been more mad that my knives were stolen,” she teased, and a twinkle danced in her eyes.

With a shake of my head, I scooted forward to the edge of the couch and reached into the duffel. “Speaking of knives, I got you something,” I said and pulled the wrapped package out but left the letters inside.

Her brows stitched together as I slid back and faced her. Colette dropped her knees and smoothed out a few wrinkles in her black leggings. “What’s that?” she asked.

“I had a buddy help me make these a few years ago. I don’t think you’ll miss your old pair.” I extended the gift to her, and she reached forward. But then I yanked it back and narrowed my eyes. “But, you first have to promise you won’t use these on me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head. “What happens if I don’t make that promise?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, then I guess you’ll never know what this is. I’ll just give them back to Mikey. He’ll find good use for them.” I twisted to the edge of the couch one more time as her hand shot forward and slapped against my forearm.

“I was kidding. I promise I won’t use those on you,” she quickly stated and sucked in her bottom lip.

With a shake of my head, I chuckled to myself and passed the gift to her. She placed the present in her lap and briefly clenched her hands. “Who’s Mikey?” she suddenly asked and snapped her eyes away from the package.

I pursed my lips. “Will you just open it? Damn,” I said.

She clicked her tongue but looked back down. “Fine, fine,” she replied and dove at the brown twine tying it together. With a quick tug, the rope fell apart, and she peeled the cloth back to reveal the contents.

Her eyes widened as her mouth fell open. “No. Way,” she gasped and slid out two knives from their leather sheaths. The same green alligator design was etched into the hilts, but these weapons were meant to do someserious damage. They weren’t the toys that I’d crudely crafted all those years ago.

The faint yellow lights of the living room flickered against the untouched steel of the blades as she let them twist in her palms. “These are…” Her voice faded out as the perfectly balanced daggers rested perfectly in her hands. “And the sheaths? The spider lilies were your doing?” she breathlessly asked.

“Mikey helped me with the knives since he’s rather proficient in that style of fighting, but leather work is something I am rather good at on my own,” I replied. A slow whistle left her lips as she slid the pristine blades back into their covers. Her fingers stroked across the leather that, while larger than her old knives, they’d still conceal easily while being worn on her thighs or wherever she saw fit.

“They’ll probably take a bit of getting used to, and if you want to learn more shit with them, let me know and I’ll wrangle Mikey into teaching you. I’m better with big fucking guns and shit like that then the finesse of knife fighting,” I added as her eyes lifted to mine again.

“That makes zero fucking sense, but okay!” she squealed, rapidly set the knives on the table and launched herself at me. She tossed her arms around my neck. “Thank you! Just thank you! That’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received, aside from the first set of knives you gave me.” She squeezed tightly as I remained absolutely still. I hadn’t expected her to react so…giddy-like.

This was much more how she’d once been around me—more carefree, and definitely less mature than she acted now. For a moment, the burdensof life lifted, and the shadow of a moonless sky faded to a starry canvas of beautiful memories. We weren’t plagued with what was still to come.

“And the spider lilies,” she whispered as she slid her arms away from around my neck, but she didn’t move away from me. The warmth of her body heat wrapped me in a painting of where we’d first fallen in love. Now, it seemed to be happening all over again, but in a new way. In a way that was stronger and lasting.

“They didn’t scare you off?” I hesitantly asked.

She giggled gently. “I mean, it was a little startling at first, because it was kind of stalker-ish. But then I realized the only person who knew they’re my favorite flower is you.”

I shook my head. “Damn it. Apparently, I’m not even a good stalker.”

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