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Then, I notice something over his shoulder.
“Wes … is that a new front door?”
His smile spreads into a grin as he turns and looks at the country-blue slab of wood behind him with the big brass door knocker. “Look familiar?”
“Yeah, it does actually. But I don’t—oh my God.”
Wes chuckles and turns to face me. “The front half of Carter’s house only got smoke damage, so I was able to salvage a few things. It doesn’t exactly match the rest of the house, but at least it doesn’t have a broken-out window in the middle of it.”
Wes shifts his weight and pulls something out of his pocket. Taking my hand, he drops a single key into my palm. “Found this under Carter’s doormat. Welcome home, Rain.”
I stare at the tarnished metal, which suddenly feels as though it weighs as much as a house.
No, as much as a home.
“Listen, you don’t ever have to go back in there if you don’t want to. We can live in the fucking tree hou—”
My heart explodes as I dive for his mouth, planting a kiss on his perfect, parted lips. I don’t care if I’m ready. I don’t care if he’s fucked up. I don’t care if we’re destined to break each other’s hearts. No one has ever loved me like this, and Paramore was right.
That’s worth the risk.
I pull away, clutching the key—still warm from Wes’s pocket—like a single rose. “I wanna see.”
Wes’s eyes widen as his pupils dart back and forth between mine. “You sure?”
I nod, not sure at all, but wanting to be … for him. And for me.
“Come on,” I say, using his broad shoulders to help me stand. “Show me what you’ve done with the place.”
“Rain, you don’t have to do this.”
I shake my head and try to put on a brave face. “I want to.”
With a single dip of his chin, Wes takes a step back, clearing my path to the front door.
But it doesn’t feel like a door. It feels like I’m standing in front of a massive wooden drawbridge, and inside, banging against the surface and rattling the heavy chains, is everything I’ve been trying to keep locked away in my mind. Every trauma. Every fear. Every bittersweet, fading memory. I was afraid if I let them out, they would trample me, but as I slide the key into the lock with shaking fingers, the rattling goes quiet. When I turn the knob and give it a push, the door opens without so much as a squeak. And when Wes reaches in beside me and flicks the light switch by the door, all those gruesome beasts I expected to find have been replaced with glittering, golden butterflies.
The living room is wide open and full of light. Instead of stained, matted carpet, shiny hardwood the color of Coca-Cola is spread out before us. The only furniture in the room is a couch and a love seat, a coffee table, and the TV stand. The walls are light beige again instead of tobacco yellow. And when I inhale, I smell fresh paint instead of cigarettes and coffee.
“Wes … I …”
“Oh shit. Hang on …” Wes darts inside and grabs an empty liquor bottle off the coffee table. Holding it behind his back, he turns to face me, an innocent mixture of pride and shame on his handsome face.
“You did all this in a week?”
“Yeah …” Wes looks around for a place to stash the bottle. He sets it down next to the TV stand, where I can’t see it. “It turns out that ripping up carpet feels a hell of a lot better than putting your fist through a wall.”
Wes starts walking back toward me, but I don’t let him get more than a few feet before I run and leap into his arms, peppering his face with kisses.
Wes laughs as I grip his stubbled cheeks, kissing his tired eyelids, his strong brows, his straight nose, and smooth forehead, and it’s a sound I never thought this house would hear again.
“I love you,” I declare between kisses.
“Love you more,” Wes says before intercepting my lips with his own.
The moment the seam of our mouths meet, I feel as if I’ve been struck by lightning. I’m rooted to the earth through his strong body, captured and suspended in his glowing, buzzing stream of electricity. I grip his face harder as the current courses through us—blinding and devastating and healing and hot—and Wes angles his head to take me deeper, using my mouth as a vessel for everything left unsaid.
He kisses me feverishly, impatiently. As if he has more love to give me than time.
