Page 130 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“He shouldn’t have made you question my feelings for you.”

I bring his knuckles to my lips, careful not to touch the open sores, only the bruised portion. “He didn’t make me question your feelings for me.”

Pained, Colt looks over at me. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.” I kiss his hand again. “I know you love me, Colt Thorne.”

His expression pinches with anguish, but he doesn’t say a word.

“If you didn’t, you would’ve never picked me up in the rain before walking home in it,” I whisper. “You would’ve never stolen my orange juice or refused to take back your T-shirt when I tried to give it to you. You would’ve never taught me how to ice skate or taken me to Sunday brunch or to visit my parents. You’ve made me feel more loved in the short time we’ve been together than Logan was able to do in years. Hell, even more than my parents were able to do in my entire life.” The tears flow freely from my eyes as I lick my lips and peek up at him. “Some stupid words said by a stupid boy aren’t going to erase those moments, Colt. No one––not Logan or anyone else––can touch what we have. Only you and me. And I really hope you know how much I love you too––”

He kisses me hard and rough, and with so much passion, it only makes the tears fall faster. Because I can feel it. His love. In a simple kiss. A simple brush of his hand against my skin. I can feel it so deeply. Like it envelops me in warmth. He’s a fool to think I’d give that up. For anything, let alone my asshole ex.

After a few more seconds, Colt pulls away and presses his forehead to mine. “Thank you. For seeing what I wanted you to see. What I needed you to see. Past the bullshit. The lies.”

“I see you,” I clarify with a watery smile. “I love you, Colt. And I know you might think you’re the villain, but I don’t think you could be more wrong.”

“Love you, too, Ash. More than anything.”

He grabs my hips and drags me across the car, lifting me up until my knees are straddling his waist. With flashes of lightning and claps of thunder, we make love in his truck. In the middle of a rainstorm. And I love it too.

More than anything.

EPILOGUE

ASHLYN

“Mom. Dad,” I greet them, refusing to let any awkwardness settle over us as I stand up and motion to Colt’s family. “This is Becca Thorne, Colt’s mom, and his little sister, Blakely. Blake and Becca, this is Wade and Angelica, my parents.”

“Nice to meet you,” my parents reply, their attention shifting from the red and black face paint on Becca and Blakely’s faces to the ice rink where the LAU Hawks are currently playing.

I still can’t believe Colt convinced them to fly down for his first game and the last of the season.

After the blow up with Logan, and my little make-up session with Colt in his truck, Colt drove me home and spent the night at my house. The next morning, he received a text from Theo, informing us that Logan had been kicked out of the Taylor house. By the time Monday rolled around, Logan had moved out, and wasn’t welcome unless he got his head out of his ass. Theo’s words, not mine.

I’m not going to lie, it took a few weeks before I finally felt comfortable coming back to the Taylor House. It’s still a little bit of a whorehouse on the weekends, which is when Colt and I hang out at my place, but during the week, it’s almost homey. And it’s been nice. To see Colt’s real friends rally around him instead of letting Logan get away with his awful behavior any longer.

Shorty moved out too. In fact, he lives with Logan and Graves. I can only imagine the shitstorm taking place in their house, but thankfully, I don’t have to care. Because it isn’t any of my business anymore.

Halle-freaking-lujah.

As the opposing team rushes to our goal, the audience starts chanting, “De-fense! De-fense!” My mom slides off her tie-dyed shawl and folds it over her arm as she and my dad wiggle past the rest of us to get to their seats.

We’re halfway through the first period, and the score is still zero to zero, when Depp steals the puck––which Colt informed me is also called a biscuit––from the opposing team and passes it across the ice toward Logan, who’s the right wing. Logan shoots the puck toward the net, but the goalie blocks it with his leg when Colt swoops in like a freaking ninja and catches the rebound.

“Go, Colt! You got this!” I scream, my veins flooding with adrenaline.

Colt takes the puck around the net, chips it off the board, around the defenseman, and toward Theo, who’s ready and waiting at the center of the rink. The opposing defenseman scrambles to get into position, putting himself between Theo and their goalie, but he doesn’t make it in time as Theo slaps the puck into the top right corner of their net.

Cupping her mouth, Blakely screams Theo’s name, and my parents join in as the red light behind the goal lights up, confirming a point for our team.

And I love it. The energy. The cold air. The cowbells clanging in the arena. The posters with Colt’s number painted in LAU’s school colors dotting the crowd.

I love it all.

And when the game ends two periods later, and we meet Colt outside after his little press conference with a few journalists, I love his smile. The one reserved for me. Along with the panty-melting kiss he gifts me with before remembering our families are here to witness it.

With his arm still firmly around my waist, he turns to the rest of the family. “Hey, guys. Sorry about the wait.”

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