Page 145 of Wild Eyes
His eyes work their way over my face. He doesn’t rush. He soaks me in, like I’m water after he’s been stranded in the desert. “You will.”
The way West believes in me will never fail to take my breath away.
I step closer, seeking his heat despite the warm weather.
“I—” My voice cracks, and I blink faster to cover the emotion. I refuse to cry on the red carpet for everyone to see. “I’ve missedyou.”
His head shakes softly from side to side, his eyes brighter than usual. “Me too, fancy face. Me too.” He pulls me against him—with cameras and fans and people screaming my name—and hugs me like I’m his.
Because I am.
And neither of us cares who sees it.
“I’m so fucking sorry. So sorry I let you walk out that door.” His words rasp over my scalp, tangling in the loose waves that cascade down my shoulders. “I froze. And I should have fought harder. I was busy licking my wounds when what I should have told you is that it doesn’t matter how hard the road is. Bears. Paparazzi. The lowest lows. You and me? We do this thing together. You’re my person. Nothing will change that.”
I gulp to swallow the tears. “You’re my person too. I’m fucking miserable without you.”
He breathes me in, and I nuzzle him, knowing I’m getting makeup on his lapels but finding that I don’t especially care. “What about the kids? They?—”
He holds me out now, gripping my shoulders and bending his knees so he can look me in the eye. “Will be fine. We’ll make sure they are. It’s better when we do it together, yeah?”
My molars grit as I nod back at this man. This big, beautiful man who I get to call my own. At this moment, I can’t help but hate myself for walking away from him.
He got to me first.
But my plan for tonight was always to make my way back to him.
And now he gets to be here to see me do it.
“Always better when we’re together,” I say, smiling as I repeat the words back to him. Then I step in close and kiss him squarely on the mouth.
Cameras flash as they capture the moment.
And for once, it doesn’t bother me.
“The nominees for song of the year are…”
The screen filters through snippets of songs and music videos, but when it gets to mine, they pan to me. Sitting next to West, in what was supposed to be Ford’s seat.
Earlier, after Ford checked to make sure West and I found each other, he mumbled, “Good. Now I can leave. I fucking hate these things. I’ll watch you win from the hotel.”
Turns out he wasn’t accompanying his dad at all.
He was playing matchmaker.
West squeezes my hand and grins down at me. I smile and dip my head, a hint of shyness creeping in. My cheeks flush and the voice from the stage carries on with the other nominees.
“Don’t be nervous. You’re going to win.”
“How do you know?” I whisper to West.
He shrugs. “I just do.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I settle for resting my head on his broad shoulder while squeezing the hell out of his hand.
Eventually, the moment comes.
“All right, here we go.” The ripping of an envelope filters over the speakers. “And the award goes to…Skylar Stone for ‘Photosynthesis’!”
