Page 121 of Truck Stop Tempest

“She’ll be back. You’re doing a good thing, letting her work this out on her own.” Aida patted my back, then hopped to her feet. “I gotta go inside. Feed Lucia. Lunch will be ready soon. Lettie’s making a feast.”

Tucker’s mom had settled into the mansion like she’d lived there all along. She was going to be amazing with the kids.

I sat in the sand, listening to Rocky’s laughter, an ache settling in my gut. My father and I had once been close like Tango and Rocky until the night Luciano had covered my crime. After that, neither one of my parents had been able to look me in the eye again. Shame. Guilt. Disgust. Fear. Whatever the reason, our relationship had suffered because I’d killed a man. I’d ended an untouchable man’s life so he couldn’t fuck up another kid.

I had no regrets. My path, no matter how vile, had led me to Tuuli. If my actions also took her away from me, so be it. At least I’d known for a little while that I still had a beating heart in my stone-cold chest.

I had Aida. I had a family. I was an uncle by default to Lucia and Rocky. And I would only give them the best of me. The me who had been uncovered by the tempest that was Tuuli Holt.

“Tito. Come on. Lunch is ready,” Rocky bellowed, mere seconds before slamming into my back and circling his arms around my neck.

Yeah. Shit was good in Whisper Springs.

I pushed to my feet, hoisted the little monkey higher up my back, and hooked my arms under his legs, bouncing him hard as I jogged across the lawn. We had almost reached the door when the familiar rumble of an engine drew my attention to the driveway.

Fuck me.

My Mustang.

Dirty as shit. Gospel music thumping out the rolled-down windows.

I swung Rocky around to my front and set him on his feet. “Hey, little man. Go inside, get washed up. I’ll be right there.”

“Hurry. I’ll save you a seat.”

I reached the driver’s side door before the car completely stopped.

The smile that greeted me was so goddamn beautiful, so fucking serene, I knew all my worry had been for nothing.

“Bunny.”

“Grim.”

Sweet Jesus. The man was a sight. Rumpled hair. Overgrown facial fur. Firestorm blazing in his tired eyes. Before I could set the brake, he jerked the door open, unhooked my seatbelt, and pulled me against his thick chest, choking me with a hug so tight and full of gratitude I feared my head might pop.

Face buried in his shirt, I savored the aroma of sweat and sunshine.

His words came fast and furious.

“Fuck. I love you so fuckin’ much, Bunny.” Kiss, kiss.

“I thought I lost you.” Nuzzle, nuzzle.

“Couldn’t fuckin’ breathe.” Nibble, nibble.

“I love you.” Emotion choked him, his voice breaking, his hold tightening.

He loved me.

I had so much to tell him. So many things I needed to say, but I couldn’t speak past the lump in my throat. And that was fine. We had time. We had forever.

So, I stayed between his strong arms, breathing him in, memorizing the rhythm of the thump, thump, thump in his chest.

I was home. I was where I belonged. I was his bunny; he was my beast. He was safety. Protector, lover, friend, fighter, my rock, my home. My beautifully broken, perfect man.

He showed no sign of letting me go, so I mumbled into his shirt. “Can I kiss you?”

His whole body rumbled with a chuckle. Into my hair, he mumbled, “Tell me something I don’t know about you. Something big.”

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