Page 145 of Love Notes & Lifelines
“I’m going to kill him. I’ll ruin the motherfucker.”
A slow grin slides over my lips because I know he would. If I asked him to, he would burn the world to the ground for me.
“What I’m trying to say is I panicked too. Old insecurities crept in, and new ones sprouted. I come with a lot of baggage, and I was so worried I’d hurt you or the girls that it took me all night to set myself straight.”
His expression softens and this time, when tears slip down my cheeks, he wipes them away with gritty thumbs.
“You set yourself straight, did you? And what does that look like exactly?” His body heat engulfs me, making it hard to think, but I focus on my words.
“It looks like me coming to you with baggage that’s too heavy to carry on my own, knowing you won’t let it crush me. It looks like me accepting that trust is sometimes hard for you and remembering to be patient. It looks like believing you when yousay you love me and allowing those words to be my mantra when everything feels uncertain.”
“Stella.” My name is a groan and a prayer. “I’m supposed to be the one apologizing.”
“No. We wasted enough time because awful people want to hurt us and take what doesn’t belong to them. I don’t want to waste any more time. I want to fight for the girls. I want to fight for us—for our…” I blink as insecurity pokes at my chest, but it’s time to be brave, so I steel my spine.
“I want to fight for our family. I’ve had enough apologies and empty words to last a lifetime. They’re just words. We’re more than that, Beck. We’re more than empty promises and broken dreams. We’re the future I’ve always wanted but didn’t feel worthy of having. You’ve given me hope that that future exists and that a place to belong is within reach. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone take that from me now.”
His gaze drops to my fisted hands, then he crushes his body to mine, but I’m not done yet.
“So tell me what you’re doing up here. Tell me how I can help. And then—” My voice breaks. I don’t need an apology from him, but I do need something. I need to hear that he still wants me—self-help is a long game, and I’ve only just entered the arena. “T—tell me you still want to marry me tomorrow.”
His groan hits my ears first, then his lips cover mine. He’s not gentle, and if I inhale too sharply, my nose tickles with the dust that’s still covering every inch of him. But he’s mine. And I’m his. I feel that in this kiss.
“Oh, I still plan to marry you, sweetheart,” he says with his lips hovering above mine. He rubs our noses together. The dust and grime grind harshly between our skin, and it’s perfect. His words, our kiss, the dirt and dust between us, settling over usand filling in the cracks of our foundation caused by Danica, fortifying our bond, creating a seal, and making us stronger.
“You’re mine, and I’m yours,” he vows. “I’m marrying you because I want to. Not because it’ll look good on paper. Not so we can get custody—we’re doing that anyway. I’m marrying you because I’m not me without you. I need you and want you and will fight to keep you forever.”
A piece of sheetrock falls from the ceiling, hitting his ladder. It crashes into the wall, knocking down a child’s painting.
“What are you searching for up here?” I ask again. This time, the lump in my throat is happy emotions that invade every inch of my body until I’m cloaked in his words.
He stares at where the ladder leans haphazardly against a discolored portion of the wall, but his expression is blank. He crosses the room slowly, muttering something so quietly I can’t make out the words, so I follow behind him, careful as I step over debris of all sizes.
Beck holds his hand out with his palm toward me. “Stay there.”
He pulls the ladder from the wall, then picks up his sledgehammer, and attacks the place where the painting had been. It only takes a few swings before it’s big enough for him to put his head through.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he says. But he doesn’t sound pissed. He’s almost…happy, maybe?
“Beck?”
He turns to me with a wide grin, reaches into the hole with his right hand, and pulls out a large plastic accordion folder. The front simply says,For Beck.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
BECK
The instantI see Cally’s handwriting, the entire world fades away until I’m lost in the past. One where I’m a little boy and she’s my big sister, protecting me and always trying to make me laugh.
My gaze cuts to the ceiling. The glass is still there. I knew it was the second I saw Emmy’s book. My book, actually. I’d made it for Cally when I was in kindergarten, and like most childhood memories, it faded with time.
“Beck?” Stella’s voice pierces the silence in my head.
“I—I have to shower,” I say.
She stares into my eyes and nods as though she understands, before peering into the hole I created. It never crossed my mind to look for anything else.
“Is it empty?”
