Page 8 of Between Periods

FOUR

AVA

There wasa time when I thought my life was in a perpetual downward spiral. Like I had my head shoved inside a toilet while the world kept flushing me down no matter how loud I screamed or how hard I fought back.

There was no light left at the end of the tunnel, and if by some miracle there was, I wouldn’t have been able to see it past my shattered vision and hatred of the world around me.

That was years ago now. Back before I knew what it felt like to be held in a mother’s arms and kissed by a man who would move mountains for me. I’ve learned that the bad doesn’t necessarily disappear once you’ve become accustomed to the good, but it sure does help drown it out.

Still, there are times when the darkness shadows the light, and you fall back into the pit of despair that you’ve only recently climbed out of. For me, that happens when I’m the happiest, when I’m full of so much love, pride, and excitement that the fear of losing everything becomes a weight too heavy to bear, forcing me back into my protective shell.

Right now, here in paradise with the most important people to me, is exactly one of those times.

A low rumble sounds in my ear, and a large hand smooths the exposed skin on my waist. I release a sigh, shutting my eyes in the darkened room.

It’s been a couple of hours since Oakley and I returned to our room and headed to bed after dinner, but I haven’t slept, too caught up on the feelings threatening to burst inside my chest like an overfilled balloon. There’s the slightest slip of orange spilling from beneath the blinds, so I can’t have been awake for too long.

“Are you okay, baby?” Oakley’s words brush my ear and neck, making me shiver. That large hand slides to my stomach as he pulls me closer, my back stuck to his hard stomach.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Something’s bothering you,” he states while pressing his lips to my pulse point and humming in satisfaction.

I place my hand on the one splayed across my stomach and squeeze. “I’m okay.”

There’s a grumble before he shifts us, moving to hover above me, two thick arms on either side of my head.

“Try again.”

He stares down at me with an unguarded expression that has my breath catching.

“It’s been two years. You’d think I would be used to you looking at me like that by now.”

Oakley’s laugh fills my belly with warmth as he shakes above me. White teeth beam when he grins, pink lips stretched wide. “I’m glad I still have that effect on you, beautiful. It will be a cold day in hell when you don’t make me feel the exact same way.”

Sucking in a slow, calming breath, I press my palm to his jaw and say, “I’m just feeling very happy, and that makes me nervous. It’s like I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.” For everything to come crashing down on me, burying me alive underneath a pile of hopes and dreams.

Expecting disappointment is incredibly suffocating. It’s a feeling that lingers in your soul like cigarette smoke on your favourite sweater.

“There aren’t any shoes dropping, Ava. This life, this feeling of contentment and belonging? That’s how you should have felt every single day for the past twenty-one years. You were dealt an awful hand, but the game is over now. You get to walk away with the jackpot. You’re mine, and I don’t plan on ever letting you feel that way again.”

The confidence and determination in Oakley’s words create a lump in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow down. When my eyes begin to burn and water, I know there’s no stopping the tears before they fall.

Thumbs swipe each tear away. “It kills me to see you cry.”

A laugh bubbles in my chest. “I barely ever cry anymore. You can thank yourself for that.”

“I would do anything to keep your eyes free from tears forever, baby.”

Lips press to mine in a deep, full kiss. The energy between us shifts and coils, pulling me closer to him as my back arches and my breasts brush Oakley’s chest.

Slipping my hands around his neck, I thread my fingers into the soft hair at his nape and tug him closer, so overwhelmed with the need to have him as close to me as possible. Oakley’s tongue slides across my lips, parting them with a rough groan that I feel in my curled toes.

“I fucking love you.” His words are as rough as sandpaper but warm enough to thaw an iceberg.

“I love you too.”

I laugh when his lips slide to my jaw and pepper it with kisses. The day-old stubble of what once used to be a burly beard tickles the sensitive skin before I slide my hands to his bare chest and push. “You need to either shave or let your beard grow out again. This in-between is such a mood killer.”

---