Page 151 of Wild Sanctuary

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t move her hand from my chest. Simply closes her eyes and presses her face into my throat, where I feel her mouth shape the words against my skin soundlessly.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

She says it three times silently into my collarbone, and I feel each one of them hit harder than anything she could have said out loud.

Then she pulls back, just far enough to look at me. Her hands come up to my jaw to hold my face, and her thumbs settle on my cheekbones, her eyes intent on mine.

“I love you, Wyatt Hartley.”

It is the smallest sound she has made all day, and I feel it like she’s driven a fist straight through my chest.

She leans in until her forehead meets mine, then closer still, until her mouth is a breath from mine.

“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.

“Say it again.” The words are hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I’m going to need you to say it every day for the rest of my life.”

“I love⁠—”

I draw her mouth down to mine and kiss her with every word I’ve not spoken in six years. Her lips part for me without a sound as I take her mouth slow and deliberate, the way a man takes something he plans to keep. I’ve waited too long to be in any hurry now.

When she pulls back, her forehead settles against mine.

“Sleep now, my Daisy-girl.”

“Stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. Close your eyes. Rest now.”

She lets out the smallest breath of a sound and lowers herself back into me. Her hand finds mine on top of the comforter and her fingers thread through.

And as sleep claims her, I hold her closer, grateful for this moment I thought I’d never get, and almost lost forever today.

Sleep is a long time coming, but that’s alright. I have her.

She’s breathing. She’s here. She loves me.

And I’m not wasting another second.

EPILOGUE

DAISY

Four Weeks Later

The cemetery gates are propped open when we pull up. I squint against the afternoon sun as I climb out of the truck with flowers in my arms. I’ve brought pink peonies as big as my fist, and end of season deep purple irises I cut from Jessamine’s bed by the south fence.

Bringing the bouquet to my nose, I inhale the combination of sweet and woody fragrances from the blooms as Wyatt comes around the front of the cab, his hand finding the small of my back.

“Ready?”

“No.” I glance up at him as I bump my shoulder into his arm. “Let’s go anyway.”

We’re ten feet up the path when his phone rings.

He pulls it out of his back pocket, and I see the screen at the same time he does.

Sheriff’s Office.