Page 28 of Lonesome Man
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks, and he swiped them away, but more instantly replaced them, and a sob burst from me. This man, my god, he was everything.
“Libs? Please, baby, don’t cry. Talk to me. I need you to talk to me, darlin’.”
I pressed my forehead to his. “I love you, too, Tucker Smith, so much. And I…I’m not scared anymore. I want this, to be here with you more than anything else in this world.”
His gaze searched mine. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“I’ll take you to the city whenever you want, darlin’, I promise. Anything you want, I’ll make sure you have it.”
I smiled as more tears fell. “All I really want is to be with you.”
“You got me.” He pressed a hard kiss to my lips. “Fuck, Libs, you’ve always had me.”
Then he wrapped me in his strong arms and held me tight.
He held me like I was his whole world, and I knew the feeling, because he was mine too.
Epilogue
Tucker
Six months later
The theater was packed, and I wrapped my arm around Libs when I noticed how stiff she was sitting beside me. “Okay, darlin’?”
She looked up at me, her beautiful brown eyes wide, almost alarmed. “I know I wanted to keep this a surprise, but now…I’m scared you’re going to hate it.”
I frowned. “Woman, I am not going to hate your play. Why the hell would you think that?” I whispered as the lights dimmed to signal the play was about to start. The last six months, from the sale of her script to opening night, she’d kept the details of From Afar a closely guarded secret, wanting tonight to be the first time I learned what it was about, so this sudden show of cold feet was a surprise.
Her hand slid into mine, and she was fucking trembling. “Libs?”
The curtain opened, and I glanced up as a little girl strode out on to the stage, her parents screaming at each other in the background.
“Tilly, get your ass back here now!” the father roared.
Libs squeezed my hand again, and I knew instantly that the play was about her. The little girl ran across the stage and the lights dimmed. When they came back up, only one side of the stage was lit, and we were in an office and the little girl was nervously pacing beside an old two-way radio.
It crackled, and hand shaking, she picked it up. “Hello, this is Tilly, over.”
“Hey, Tilly, you’re speaking to Parker.” The lights on the other side of the stage lit up, revealing a little boy. He smiled wide. “But you can call me Park.”
I blinked down at the stage, my heart in my throat. The story was about us.
When I turned to her, she was staring up at me, still wide-eyed. So nervous. I lifted her hand, kissed the back of it, and smiled down at her. My new wife visibly relaxed and turned to watch her play.
When it finished and we walked out onto the street, I pulled her into my arms.
“What did you think?” she asked and bit her lip.
“I loved it. The only thing I didn’t like was the ending.” It ended with Libs breaking things off, with her alone and in pain, because she’d written the play before she’d landed on my airstrip six months ago, before she changed both of our lives for the better.
“Me too,” she said and curled her arms around my neck. “But I kind of like it this way. The real ending’s just ours.”
She was right, but then Libs was always right. I kissed her, and when I finally lifted my head again, she smiled up at me. “Let’s go home.”
Libby
