Page 72 of White Horizons

Ten minutes later, we’re back to his house, and a sense of belonging I’ve never felt washes over me. I don’t know why I was so resistant to the idea of being here. Well actually I do know, but it seems nonsensical now in the big picture of our life.

I get out of the car, and he does the same. He opens the back door to grab the cupcakes, and Moose jumps out and runs over. He’s so happy to see me, and my eyes fill with tears. I have a feeling it’s going to be one of these kinds of days. I’m tired, super emotional, and I just love them both so much.

I squat down and hug him while his butt wiggles at warp speed. “Hi, buddy. I missed you too.”

Clay’s watching us together, and then he turns to open up the house. Moose and I follow him through the garage and into the mudroom. He kicks off his tennis shoes, and I pull off my socks. Walking around on the side of the road, all kinds of things got stuck to the bottoms.

Silently, the three of us walk into the kitchen. He sets down the box and moves toward the coffee pot to get it running, and I sit down at the island. Moose has abandoned me for a rawhide bone sitting on his bed.

Once Clay has it going, he turns around to face me, puts his elbows on the counter, and leans toward me. He’s so handsome, so familiar I feel like I’m staring at the other half of my soul. Still feeling nervous, I notice my hands start sweating, and I start rambling again.

“I really do love your house.” I look around and then stop on my favorite spot on the couch where I see the blanket I dragged up from downstairs. He hasn’t moved it since January, and I have to swallow the lump in my throat. I turn back to look at him. “The thing is, I never once considered moving to be with Justin. Not once. I never even considered it as an option. New York City is my home. Well . . . was my home.”

His eyes are imploring me to continue, so I do.

“You see, I was loyal to it, to the safe space I created, and to my friends, but never to him. He wasn’t the one—you are. If the offer still stands, I’d like to stay here . . . with you.”

He straightens to his full height and runs his hand through his hair then over his chest. He’s wearing a navy Henley with the sleeves pushed up, another pair of trendy sweatpants—or joggers, whatever guys call them—and I want to wrap around him like a koala bear.

“Before all else,” he says, breaking the silence, and I mash my lips together to keep from speaking because I’ve been waiting months for this explanation.

But instead of answering, he walks around the island, takes my hand, and leads me into the last room of his house I’ve yet to see: his office.

Like the rest of the house, two of the walls are mostly windows, one wall is a giant bookshelf filled with books, and the last has framed awards, photos, and a large picture of the Appalachian Mountains. He has a simple wooden table as his desk, two chairs in front, and a couch pushed against the outside wall, and then along the back wall against the windows that overlook the lake are eight guitars propped up in stands.

“This is a great office,” I tell him as I look around the space to find what it is he’s led me in here for, and then I focus in on the shelf of books he’s standing next to:Atomic Habits,The Joys of Compounding,Daring Greatly,The Power of Positive Thinking,The Art of Not Giving a Fuck,The Seven Habits of Highly Successful People,The Alchemist, which I gave him, and so many more. Underneath that he has books on classic literature and poetry. This is definitely a piece of him I didn’t know.

“I made a deal with myself after . . .” He pauses, shaking his head like he really doesn’t want to tell me this but is going to. “Well, you know, that day in New York. I decided I would put myself first because that is what I deserve.” He crosses his arms. It’s a defense mechanism, and I hate that he’s closing himself off. “I have a tendency to let others go ahead of me, or I’ll settle for the place in their life they’ve deemed I should be in. I know I do it, and I know it isn’t exactly the healthiest behavior. A year and a half ago, after I saw you with him, compounded with other things going on in my life, it was my wake-up call moment.”

He lets out a sigh, and my eyes fill with tears. I hate that I did this to him, hate that I was a catalyst in making him feel like he wasn’t first, because he is. He’s everything.

“Above all else means more so than anything else. I don’t need to be more or the most, but I do need to be first, at least when it comes to my life.” His hand untangles from his arm, and he again rubs where the tattoo is over his heart. “Before all else means first. It’s hard to explain, but it’s my daily reminder that it’s okay to put myself first, or to expect to be chosen first, because I am worthy of both.”

My stomach sinks, and the tears leak out as I consider how badly I hurt him. “I made you feel second, like you weren’t worthy. I’m so sorry,” I say, barely speaking above a whisper.

“You didn’t choose me, so I chose myself. I took a step back from everyone. I bought this house, I read all these books, and after months of working on myself, it finally became easy for me to know what I deserve and say what I want. As for love, I want what Ash and Avery have, and I refuse to settle for anything less. It wasn’t supposed to be you, not after what you did, but what I find is in the middle of the night, when the world is quiet, my mind is not. It thinks of you, dreams of you, and there’s this ache in my heart straight down to my very being. It sometimes burns, but mostly it makes it hard to breathe. And then I ask myself,What am I doing?Because if I’m honest with myself and putting myself first, then I’m going after what I want, and that’s you. In putting myself first, it’s okay to give you a second chance, and I have. I didn’t even realize I was doing it, but I was.”

Needing to be closer, I move to stand directly in front of him, and I reach for the hem of his shirt, just so I can be touching something about him. His hands reach up to cradle my head, and he thumbs away the tears on my cheeks.

“Clay, I know this means nothing to you now, but in my heart, I did choose you. I was all in. Unfortunately, as I’ve been trying to explain, my head was in another place. I was stuck behind these values I thought were honorable. Well, they are honorable to me, and I just didn’t know how to unstick myself. But eventually I did. I’m so sorry you got hurt. You’re the last person in the world I ever want to hurt.”

I walk into him again and wrap my arms around him. I hug him, hug him so tight because I never want to let him go, and he hugs me back. Then he moves his hands under my armpits and deadlifts me like I weigh nothing. I wrap myself around him, just like I imagined in the kitchen, and he walks us to the couch where he sits down with me straddling his lap. Being this close to him, sitting on him, I take liberties and run my hands through his hair, over his face, down his shoulders to his chest, and he says, “I was on my way to you,” at the same time I say, “Cora and I made a plan for me to win you back.”

“You what?” He chuckles.

“You were?” I pull back, shocked.

“I was. I needed to see you. I needed to fix this.” He runs his hand over my head, pushing my hair out of my face, and looks at me so tenderly more tears drip out of my eyes.

And just like that I know everything is going to be okay. Leaning into him, I close my eyes and place my lips against his, just breathing in the feeling. His hands run up and down my back as we both savor the feeling of being close to each other, and then they land on my thighs, where he squeezes.

“I want to hear about this plan,” he mumbles against my lips before taking my bottom one between his and sucking on it. My insides curl with need for him, a need to be consumed by him, but he releases it with a pop and stares at me with my favorite color in the whole world.

Taking hold of the scarf, I gently lift it over his head and drape it on the back of the couch. The scent of coffee floats into the room, and I settle back on his lap just a little.

“Remember, getting myself stuck seems to be my specialty, and I needed her help to guide me on how to get to you. I didn’t know how to do it. You were adamant about basically never seeing me again, and I was full-on miserable, like drowning in my condo with no idea how to get air.”

He tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear, and with the way he’s looking at me, it feels like he’s memorizing every detail of my face. It feels intimate and loving, and it gives me courage to go on.

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