Emilia

I can tell he’s still angry by the way he opens the door. And though I feel his piercing gaze like a brand over my skin, I can’t take my eyes off the contours of the body that stands before me. His torso is completely bare and, like a moth drawn to a flame, I’m captivated. From the round curves of his strong shoulders to his well-defined muscular chest, to those chiseled abs and the trail of light brown hair that disappears beneath the waist of his dark grey sleep pants. I’m mesmerized.

That is until the warm flush that permeates my body snaps me out of my lust-filled haze. But as I try to look away, the evidence of his past grabs my attention and crashes into me with the force of a runaway train.

The extent of the damage is so extreme that in sections, it’s hard to tell where one injury ends and another begins. There are multitudes of gashes lining his skin, some stitched cleanly in perfect lines, while others are jagged and skewed in ways that invoke pain just at the sight. And as if that weren’t bad enough, the pink puckered evidence of burnt flesh is scattered down the left side of his torso in a pattern that makes my stomach twist like I’m going to be sick.

When my tear-filled eyes come to his, what stares back at me is pure, unadulterated despair. Pain and shame pour out of him in waves that make it hard for us to breathe, but when I go to reach for him, he pulls back. Spinning toward the bed, he grabs a black t-shirt, but just as quickly I’m standing in front of him. My hands clinging to his as I prevent him from hiding the scars that are as much a part of him as he is a part of me.

“Please don’t,” I beg.

While his fear never wanes, he releases the shirt, dropping it to the floor by our feet. Unsure, I search his eyes and when he doesn’t pull away, I lift a hand and ever so slowly draw it closer to his chest. Though he flinches at my touch like it still burns, he allows it, and with my heart stuck in my throat, I skim my fingertips over his warm flesh until my hand is resting over the scarred gashes that line the skin over his heart.

In that instant, time stops. The tether that binds us flares to life and I attempt to absorb every bit of his fear. His pain. The anguish he endured. Soaking in as much of the devastation as I can in hopes it helps to ease some of his burden.

When I notice the harried way his chest rises and falls, it draws my attention back to him. His eyes are sealed shut. He’s gone pale and his features are twisted into an agonized look that makes my breath catch in my throat.

Determined to pull him out of the nightmare his mind has trapped him in, I cup the sides of his face. This moment is important. I don’t know how I know it, but I can tell he needs this if for nothing else, to help build upon the trust we’re both so desperate to repair. It’s why I wait him out. And when those wistful pools of sea green stare back at me, I smile through a sob.

He survived. For me.

He endured and lived through the terror. For me.

Each of these scars is a symbol of his love and devotion to me and the family he created in his mind. We were his comfort amidst the terror, and that he survived it all so he could come home to the life he imagined for us heals a part of me I thought would forever be broken.

Without thinking, I step closer, rising to my toes so I can brush my lips against his. It’s a slow, tender touch. One I hope communicates how grateful I am for the sacrifices he made to be here. Though he doesn’t kiss me back, his hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer. The feel of our bodies pressed against one another awakens that spark of desire that’s only ever existed for him. When his fingers graze the skin at the hem of my shirt, I shiver in anticipation as goosebumps break out over my flesh.

This is wrong.

I know it is.

To feel this way, and be this close to another man when, just seven days ago, I signed the papers that ended my marriage to Creed. And yet, I can’t help but want more, for in all the years he’s been gone, my love for Lucas has never wavered. Not after he left me, and not after he stayed gone for more than 15 years. The truth is, I love him just as much today as I did the night of the bonfire when he finally admitted his feelings for me and then kissed me for the very first time.

He’s my soulmate.

My best friend and protector.

I knew it back then, just as I know it now, but if there’s one thing the events after the bonfire taught me is that nothing about Lucas and I is guaranteed. It’s why in this moment, wrapped safely in each other’s arms, I ignore the alarms going off in my head. Instead, I focus on the only thing that matters now.

“Thank you.” I stare deep into his eyes. “Thank you for fighting. For surviving. For loving me so much that you kept your promise to stay alive so you could return home to our family.” As his eyes drown in overwhelming emotion, I lean into his chest and bring my lips right over his heart. When my lips touch his skin, he sucks in a loud breath.

“Emb…” He breathes my name in a desperate exhale. “Tell me.” He demands in a rough voice. “Make me believe you’re done with him. That it’s over and you’re ready for whatever exists between us.”

Reaching up to his face, I confirm the words he wants to hear.

“It’s always been you, Lucas. It’s only ever been you.”

His eyes drop to my lips before returning to meet my gaze. “Embree?”

“Hmm,” caught under his spell, my blood heats.

Inching closer, he says, “I need to kiss you…”

“Yes.” He’s close enough that I feel his breath fan over my lips.

“More than anything, I want to kiss you, but you need to be sure, Embree. Because once I get another taste, I won’t be able to give you up again.”

“I’m sure.” My words are breathy as I hang on the very edge of anticipation.

In an instant, we come together. His soft, warm lips brush and caress against mine in a desperate kiss that deepens when our tongues intertwine in an exotic dance that heightens my need for the man who completes me. Tangling one of his hands into the back of my hair, he guides my head, positioning it just as he wants me. Meanwhile, his other hand caresses the side of my face in a move that makes my knees go weak and leaves me no choice but to melt deeper into him.

His breath comes out in shuddered pants, and when he moans, the muscles at my core clench in delicious ecstasy. With every whimper that escapes me, his movements grow more hurried. Frantic, he pulls our bodies closer. The feel of his warm hands exploring through my clothes turns me into a needy mess. Feeling like a damn about to burst, my hands touch the hard planes of his chest before moving down to the elastic waist of his pants. Before I make it any further, he grabs my hands, and to my disappointment, he works to end the most amazing kiss of my entire life. 

“Fuck…” he drops his forehead against mine. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Like he can’t help it, he leans in for another taste. This time, the kiss is slower but no less seductive. “Emb…” I chase his lips, desperate for this moment to never end. “Hold on, sweetheart.” He kisses me one last time, taking my face in his hands as he pulls back. “As much as I want to continue this, we have to stop. We need to talk.”

It’s like he’s doused me with a bucket of ice water. The tension in my chest returns, alongside the memory of the last time he rejected me. I’m so scared of what he’s about to say that my first inclination is to brush off what just happened and pretend it wasn’t a big deal. All to stop the objection, I’m certain he’s about to voice. It’s what the old me would have done. Impeded our truths for the sake of not upsetting the fragile balance of our relationship. But isn’t that the same behavior that’s made such a mess of things?

I’ve spent most of my life running from hard conversations. Hiding from painful feelings and truths while pretending my problems don’t exist. I can’t continue down this path, so for the first time, I do as my dad suggested in his final letter. I choose to brave the conversation while bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

“The past few weeks with you and the girls have been amazing. Being back in this town has allowed me to experience a life I never thought possible. A life I want to remain a part of. Desperately. You have no idea how badly I want this, but…” he sighs, dropping his head. “I’m scared. Terrified to the point I’m afraid to let myself believe it’s possible. I worry I won’t be enough for you, and that eventually you’ll realize it’s him you want.”

“Lucas.” I take his hands in mine and inject as much sincerity as I can into my voice. “I know what I want. It’s the same thing I’ve always wanted. A chance at a life with you.”

This time, when he sighs, his shoulders slump in defeat.

He doesn’t believe me.

“I want that too, but the rational part of me thinks it’s too soon. You just signed the divorce papers, and given what you’ve been through, what you’re going through, we shouldn’t be hasty. We need to be careful. Take things slow to allow time to heal you and the girls. It’s the only way to ensure the future we build is based on a foundation that’s separate from the relationship you had with him.”

He’s right. Deep down, I know he is, but it doesn’t make his words sting any less. With a finger, he lifts my gaze back up to his.

“I want you, Embree. Mind, body, and soul. I want to keep you, to love you. I want you to be mine completely.” Reaching up, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Which is why I promise you, I’ll wait. However long it takes, I will wait until the day we’re both ready to take that next step.”

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Author’s Note: 

This is another one of those moments where Lucas becomes the vulnerable partner, while Embree turns into the strong one. It's such a shift from their normal personalities, and it's the dynamic I most love about their relationship.

The only time Lucas allows himself to be vulnerable is when he's with her because his trust in her is absolute. As for Embree, she is strongest when she's with him because he encourages her to face life head-on while trusting her with his vulnerabilities. 

I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter. Do you think it was smart of Lucas to slow things down? How do you feel about Emilia being ready to move on so quickly?

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