Page 92 of Call It What You Want
No, I’m not. But when she looks at me like that, like I’m someone worth keeping, I almost believe her.
I kiss her again, slower this time, my lips conveying everything I can’t say in words—every apology, every promise, every desperate hope that she’ll never leave me again.
Her fingers thread through my hair, and I pull her closer, savoring the weight of her against me, the soft whimper she makes against my mouth.
This.Thisis what I’ve been searching for without knowing it. Not just love, buthome, and I realize now that Ava has always been home for me.
Jameson squeals, breaking the spell.
Ava pulls back with a laugh, turning toward the tub. “Someone doesn’t like being ignored.”
I push out a breath, and rake a hand down my face, trying to reel myself back in. The steam, her mouth, that heat in her eyes, it all lingers like electricity under my skin.
She pulls Jameson out of the water, and wraps him in a towel as he kicks and squirms. I grab another towel and help dry him off, our hands touching, the electric charge between us still there, subdued now, but no less real.
Ava puts Jameson into his soft pajamas, feeds him, then settles him into the portable crib we brought from her dad’s house. I switch off the lights as Ava hums. Her voice is so soft and soothing, it makes my chest ache.
By the time Jameson's eyelids drift shut, the room has gone silent again, just the faint drip of water from the bath, and the unspoken pull between us waiting in the quiet.
We climb into bed, and I reach for the nightstand, sliding open the hidden compartment beneath the drawer. My fingers find the small velvet box I’ve kept tucked away there, hidden longer than I care to admit.
Ava’s brow furrows when I pull it out. “That wasn’t in there earlier,” she says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “When did you get that?”
I swallow, my throat tight. “Three years ago.”
Her eyes widen, soft in the glow from the lamp. “That was before?—”
“Before everything,” I finish for her. My voice comes out rough, almost breaking. “Before I knew what we’d survive. Before I even knew if I deserved you.” I take her hand, press it against my chest. “But, even back then, I knew you were it for me.”
Her breath catches, then she releases a shaky exhale.
“I kept it,” I whisper, thumbing open the box. The diamond catches the light. “Because even when I thought I’d lost everything, some part of me refused to let go of you, ofus.”
Ava’s eyes shine. “Well, we’re already married,” she murmurs, laughing through the tears that spill down her cheeks.
“I know.” I take her hand, my pulse hammering as I slide the ring onto her finger. “But I want you wearing something everyone can see. A reminder that you’re mine.”
Her lips tremble, caught between a laugh and a sob, and when she looks up at me, I see it, the same fierce, unshakable love that’s kept us alive for so long.
She stares down at the ring for a long moment, her thumb brushing over it like she’s afraid it might disappear. Then her eyes lift back to mine, shining with that quiet kind of wonder that always undoes me.
“I’ve always been yours,” she whispers.
With a smile, I cup her face, my thumb tracing the damp trail on her cheek. “Say it again.”
Her breath trembles, but she doesn’t look away. “I’ve always been yours, Jackson.”
It hits low in my chest, a pressure I didn’t know I’d been carrying, finally breaking loose. I pull her in, my mouth finding hers, the kiss slow and deep, filled with everything I’ve ever tried and failed to say. The kiss isn’t desperate anymore; it’s grounding. It’s coming home.
When we break apart, she’s smiling through the tears, her fingers curling in my shirt. Jameson shifts in his crib, a small sound, reminding us we’re not just who we used to be. We’re more now.
I rest my forehead against hers. “Guess that makes us official,” I whisper.
She laughs softly. “Guess so.”
I wrap my arms around her, feeling her heart steady against mine. Outside, the world is quiet, the kind that only comesafterthe storm. And for the first time in years, I let myself settle into the calm.
Then my phone vibrates on the nightstand, the buzz louder than usual in the quiet room. With a groan, I reach over, grab it, and unlock the screen. It’s a text from my uncle.
