Page 73 of The Promises We Broke
I stepped aside to let him in, acutely aware of the intimacy of having him in the house at this hour, in this soft lighting, while I was dressed for bed.
"I still love it," I said, accepting one of the mugs as he poured the steaming chocolate from the thermos. The smell was rich and comforting, with hints of cinnamon and vanilla that made me think of cold winter nights and safe, warm spaces.
"Good," he said, settling onto the couch and looking like he belonged there. "I was hoping some things hadn't changed."
I curled up on the other end of the couch, tucking my feet under me and cradling the warm mug in my hands. "Some things," I agreed. "Others have changed completely."
"Good changes?"
I studied him over the rim of my mug. This man who'd been my childhood best friend, my teenage heartbreak, and now something new and undefined. He was looking at me with the kind of careful attention that made me feel like the most important person in the world.
"Mostly good," I said quietly. "You're different than you were when we were kids."
"Different how?"
"More..." I searched for the right word. "More solid, I guess. More sure of yourself. Like you've figured out who you are and what you want."
"I really don't think that I have," he said with a soft laugh. "You really see that?"
The question was barely a whisper, and I could see the vulnerability in his eyes.
"Yes. I think you've grown a lot over the years," I said. "What do you want, Gage? What do you dream about now?"
He set down his mug and turned to face me fully, his expression serious and intent.
"I want to wake up in the same place every morning and know that I'm home," he said quietly. "I want to build things that last. I want to be the kind of man my niece and nephews are proud to call uncle, the kind of son who can forgive his father, the kind of brother my family can count on."
"And?" I prompted, sensing there was more.
"And I want you." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them back for weeks. "I want to take you on dates and hold your hand in public and learn everything about the woman you've become. I want to earn your trust again, even though I know I don't deserve it. I want to love you the way I should have loved you eleven years ago, if I'd been brave enough."
My breath caught, because it was exactly what I was ready to admit that I wanted too. "Gage..."
"I know it's too much too soon," he said quickly. "I know you asked for slowly, and I meant what I said about giving you whatever pace you need. But you asked what I wanted, and that's the truth. All of it."
I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The honesty in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his expression. Itwas everything I'd dreamed of hearing and everything I was terrified to believe.
"What if you change your mind?" I whispered. "What if you decide you want something different, or someone different, or somewhere different?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do." He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving mine. "Billie, I have spent eleven years running from this feeling, from you, from the possibility of the life we could have built together. I've been to forty-three states and worked a dozen different jobs and slept in more beds than I can count, and none of it ever felt like home. Not until I came back here. Not until I saw you again."
Tears pricked my eyes. "I'm scared."
"So am I." He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and took my hand in both of his. "But I'm more scared of wasting another eleven years wondering what if."
I looked down at our joined hands, his so much larger than mine, scarred from years of hard work, warm and solid and real. This was what I'd been afraid to want, afraid to hope for. This connection, this feeling of coming home to someone.
"The night you left," I said quietly, "I waited by the swimming hole until dawn, thinking maybe you'd come back. When you didn't, I went home and cried for three days straight."
His face crumpled. "Billie..."
"I'm not telling you to make you feel guilty," I said quickly. "I'm telling you because I need you to understand what I'm risking here. That seventeen-year-old girl believed with her whole heart that you were her forever. When you left, she didn't just lose the boy she loved. She lost her best friend, her future, her faith that love was something she could count on."
"I know," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "God, Billie, I know, and I hate that I did that to you. I hate that I was such a coward..."
