Page 164 of Fake As Puck
When he touches me, it’s with reverence. Like I’m something precious he’s been trusted to take care of.
When I touch him, it’s with certainty. Like I know exactly where I belong.
“I love you,” I whisper as he hovers over me, his eyes dark and serious and full of everything I feel.
“I love you too,” he says, and his voice breaks slightly on the words.
What happens next is slow. Deliberate. Intense in a way that makes my chest tight and my eyes water.
It’s the kind of love-making that happens when you know you have forever. When you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, with exactly the person you’re supposed to be with.
When you know you’re home.
“I love you,” I say again, breathless, as he moves inside me. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” he responds, his forehead pressed against mine. “I love you, Liv. I always have.”
The words become a prayer, a promise, a vow we’re making to each other without rings or witnesses or anything but the truth of how we feel.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, breathing hard, hearts racing in sync.
“That was...” I start.
“So good.”
We fall asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat.
No alarms set for early flights. No countdown to goodbye. No wondering when we’ll see each other again.
Just us. Together. Home.
And for the first time in my life, I understand what people mean when they say home isn’t a place.
Home is a person.
Home is the way West holds me like I’m the most important thing in his world.
Home is the sound of his breathing evening out as he falls asleep.
Home is knowing that when I wake up tomorrow, he’ll be here. And the day after that. And the day after that.
Home is choosing someone and having them choose you back.
Home is love that’s worth driving seventeen hours for.
Home is this bed, this room, this man who makes me feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Home is West.
And I’m finally, finally home.
Epilogue
The Seattle Icehawks are on fire.
Seven wins in a row, and West is playing like he’s possessed. Like he’s found some secret formula that makes everything click. His passes sharper, his shots more accurate, his entire presence on the ice radiating the kind of confidence that makes opposing teams nervous.
I know what his secret formula is.
