All of that sounds fucking fantastic—minus the last bit. The thought of heading back to Bloomington to my eerily quiet one-bedroom apartment all alone, reeking of Cora Lawson, seems unfathomable. But I realize there’s no way around it right now. And I sure as hell don’t regret the choice I made eight months ago to accept the job transfer, uproot my life, and put distance between me and the woman who desperately needed it.

It was hard.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It was harder than everything we went through during those fateful twenty days in a madman’s basement, because it was a choice. It was my choice. And I had the power to say ‘fuck it’ and be weak and stay, and it would have been so damn easy to do that. I wanted to do that.

But the only thing I wanted more was to see her smile.

I wanted to see her glowing and thriving and truly living her life.

I wanted to see her just like this, just like she is right now, happy and healing and learning to love herself again.

So, it’s all been worth it—I just don’t know where the hell we go from here.

I swallow, trying not to let the unknowns spoil this blissful morning after. The last time we woke up together ended up being the worst day of my life.

I reach for her arm that’s entangled around my neck and tug it down, turning it palm-side up. I gaze at the small tattoo inscribed onto her wrist, brushing my thumb over the heartbeat symbol. Her skin is soft and lightly puckered from the tiny scars beneath the design, a permanent reminder of her past. I massage my thumb over her pulse point in the same way I used to do when my touch was the only solace I could give her.

Cora inhales a quick breath, her eyes closing as she lets the feelings sweep through her. The memories. The flashbacks. The thoughts and sensations. When her eyes open, hazy and glossed over, I press my lips to her wrist, sprinkling soft kisses along her vein.

She lets out a sigh of contentment and says, “I love you.”

I’ve replayed those three words over and over in my mind for eight, torturous months, wondering if I’d ever hear them again.

Nothing beats the real fucking thing.

I squeeze her to me, inhaling her daffodil hair and skin made of citrus, still lingering with remnants of our lovemaking. “I love you so damn much, Corabelle. I’ve thought about you every single day since I left, craving your kiss, your touch, the smell of your hair. You never left my mind. I drove myself crazy not knowing if you were really okay, or wondering if you’d moved on with someone else. It’s been hell.” I kiss her forehead, hesitating before I pull back. “But seeing the light in your eyes again is everything. And even if you had moved on and found happiness with some other guy… it would have fucking sucked, but it still would have been worth it to see you like this.”