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I wasn’t going to get angry at her for calling someone she trusted to help her. I wouldn’t do that to her.
“Alex.” She turned her face into me, rubbing her cheek along mine. “Where do we stand?”
I paused at her words, pulling back and staring into her emerald irises. “What do you mean?”
She dropped her head, seeming to consider what she wanted to say. When a long minute passed with nothing, I turned her in my arms. “Sweetheart, what's going through your head?” I picked her up and set her up on the counter so I could be eye level with her. I made myself at home between her legs. Unable to keep my hands to myself, I ran them up and down, squeezing her thighs.
Her arms hooked around my shoulders. “I need you to tell me what we are. What are we doing?” She pulled back. “Today at the grocery store I almost said ‘see you at home,’ but then I realized that I didn’t know if this was your home. If you intended on staying here. Before, we never got the chance to establish ourselves as boyfriend or girlfriend, and the way we talked that day. . .what you said. What we said. . .”
I could play that conversation on repeat. “Forever,” I said. “I told you I want forever with you, and you wanted the same.” Icupped her face, running my thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. “Wren, nothing has changed for me. I still want forever with you. I want everything with you.”
“So. . .I’m your. . .girlfriend?” she asked hesitantly.
I chuckled. “Sure, Wren, you're my girlfriend. My fiancée, and soon to be mywife.”
Her eyes went wide. “W-what?”
“I’m not wasting another minute. As soon as you are ready, I’m hauling your ass down to the courthouse and we are getting married. You are mine, Wren. The moment you asked me for help, you were mine. I claimed you and you claimed me. You always have been, and you will always be that—mine.”
I watched her absorb my statement. In my youth, I had never been selfish with her. What she wanted had always come first for me. It was always at the front of my mind and I would do anything for her.
With this statement, I was being selfish.
Her eyes shone with unshed tears. I was ready to catch them. Ready to catch her at any moment. I had always been there for her when I could be. I wanted to be there for her for the rest of our lives. I had been prepared to do that as a platonic friend. Back then, I didn’t care which way I got her, as long as she wanted to be with me.
Now, I knew where I wanted to be in her life.
And she wanted me too.
If she wanted to define us, then she could use whatever label she wanted. We were all the things. She was my best friend, lover, my reason for breathing.
I needed to talk to her about Jon. About the things Foster had pulled up on him. We had his bank records, call log, and a phone call, a 911 recording, from the night I was picked up by the cops.
I tried to feel saddened by the information I had learned today. Tried to feel something for the man who at one point in time was my best friend.
It was a strange sort of detachment. I felt nothing for him.The moment I knew he did things that hurt Wren emotionally, all attachment I had to him broke. I didn’t care about him anymore. I didn’t care if I ever saw him again or if he lived or died.
I needed to talk to her about it and prepare her for what was to come.
I didn’t want to ruin this moment though. The shine in her eyes. I thought she knew my intentions. I would have to be better at telling her.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, her hands delving into her favorite spot in my hair. I knew she wanted me to grow it back out how it used to be when we were younger, and I was happy to let it grow if it made her happy.
“Before I take you up toourroom inourbed,” I said, “I need to talk to you about Jon.”
Just like that, the sparkle faded.
“Look, if you're mad at me for calling Mario, then—” She started to pull away from me, but I caught her arms, keeping them in place.
“No, I’m not mad. I’m sorry I seemed that way earlier. I’m glad you called someone.” She relaxed a bit. “I need you to stay away from him. Okay?” I could have gotten into the details. I could have told her that he was the one who called 911 on me, but that wouldn’t have changed the outcome of that night. I still would have gone to jail. There were too many witnesses that night. I was loud and verbal about looking for Kevin Whitman, the man with the burned face. Someone would have told the cops when they found his body in the alleyway that night.
“He did it, didn’t he?” She moved her hand to the scar along my side. “He’s the one who tried to. . .” She couldn’t even get the words out of her mouth.
“Yeah, honey, he did it.”
It pained me to tell her this. That the person she thought had her best interest at heart had betrayed the both of us and lied to her for years.
CHAPTER 47
