Page 22 of Versions Of Us

She shakes her head. “No. I write him a letter every year on my birthday. I have since I was eight,” she confesses. “But I’ve never sent a single one of them.”

Her admission causes my heart to ache. Despite my parents having their differences with each other, they’ve always been there for me.

“Oh, Kristen,” I exhale.

“Stop,” she warns me. “Look, I’ll admit it sucks that my father has never made an effort to be in my life. And it does hurt me. Because I can’t understand why he wouldn’t want to know me. Why he couldn’t love me.” My jaw tenses when I see the pain behind her eyes. “But my mother raised me well and she’s worked hard to give me everything I’ve ever needed. I’m lucky.”

“I think I’m the lucky one here,” I whisper, setting one hand on her hip and the other at the small of her back. “I hate him for making you doubt yourself. You deserve to be loved. You deserve everything. And I know I’ve hurt you in the past too. But I’m done messing around. All I want is to be with you. I’m all in.”

“Then we want the same thing,” she whispers.

She smiles down at me, her nose grazing my cheek as her hands climb to the back of my neck. Her lips caress mine gently at first, and then with more force. My hand slides up her back and into hair, tugging at it gently before she pulls away from me.

“Alex,” she gasps.

“Yeah,” I reply breathlessly.

“I really need you to take me home now.”

I huff out a laugh and then I stand, still holding her in my arms, her legs wrapped around my hips. I give her one more kiss before lowering her until her feet find the ground, then I take her hand in mine. “Let’s go. I’ve got some of your favourite ice cream in the freezer.”

“Mmm. Caramel honey macadamia?” she asks.

“Of course,” I reply.

She rests her head on my shoulder as we continue to walk the rest of the way to my place.

Our place.

“You must really love me,” she says as she grins up at me.

My response is automatic. “I can’t not love you, K. Not even if I try.”

Chapter 9

KRISTEN

Iwake, wrapped in Henley’s sheets, to the chirping of birds and a steady stream of sunlight beaming through the gap in the heavy curtains. If it wasn’t for the dried drool that cakes the side of my face and the crumpled mess of hair that envelops me, I might be mistaken for a regular Disney princess.

I smile at the memory of last night. Of us fumbling through the front door, our hands exploring each other as we stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom.

Then last night’s conversation replays in my mind. Henley had said he was ready to tame his wild ways and focus on the future.

Our future.

And I took his newly disciplined behaviour and gentler personality to be a testament to that. I believe that he’s truly ready to make things work between us. For real this time. And I feel happy.

Stupidly, blissfully happy.

I throw my arm lazily over to his side of the bed but instead of finding Henley’s firm naked abdomen, my hand meets cool cotton sheets. My forehead crumples in a frown as I lift my head, brushing away the mess of waves that cloud my vision.

He isn’t here.

A smooth, white piece of paper lies in the place where his head should be. I swipe it from the pillow and blink until my eyes adjust to the light.

K,

I have something important I need to take care of. I’ll be back later tonight. Sorry for skipping out on breakfast. I’ll make it up to you.

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