Fighting Shadows (On the Ropes #2)(36)

Flint bit his lip to stifle a laugh. “Oh yeah?” he asked, amused. Then he slid an arm under my neck and pulled me against his side, shifting me awkwardly until my head rested on his chest.

“Yep. It’s, like, way shorter than the others. I would hope you wouldn’t pity me for it.”

His shoulders shook as he kissed the top of my head. “Maybe I should start calling you Toes.” His foot gently tapped on the sole of my shoe.

“Oh my God! Flint, you moved your legs!” I screamed, suddenly sitting up. My eyes must have been huge, because he looked at me like I had transformed into a maniac. “It’s a miracle!” I proclaimed.

He laughed, shaking his head.

“You want to get up and try to walk?” I asked in all seriousness. “Come on. I’ll help.” I grabbed his arms and started pulling.

“Ash, stop. I can’t walk.”

“Would it help if I start singing ‘Eye of the Tiger’? You’re a boxer. That’s a very inspirational song.”

He barked out a loud laugh and yanked on my arm, forcing me back down. His mouth landed on mine before his smile even had a chance to disappear. Holding me against his lips, he breathed deeply for several seconds. I kept my eyes open, but his were reverently closed. I wasn’t completely sure what was going through his mind, but I had a feeling it was something big, a fact that was confirmed when his eyes opened and stared so fiercely into mine that I felt as though he were branding me from the inside out.

It was a moment I would remember for the rest of my life.

He could love her. I could learn to be okay with that. Because as his eyes held mine, I knew I’d never belong to anyone else, something I needed more than any love he could ever provide.

Releasing my mouth, he whispered against my lips, “I can move my legs.”

“Oh,” I breathed, still reeling from our moment.

“I mean, a little bit. It takes a lot of concentration, and they don’t do much, but . . .” He paused, and his foot lifted an inch before falling back to the ground.

“Oh,” I repeated.

“But I do appreciate your offer to sing,” he teased.

I started to roll back to my spot on the grass, but Flint held me tight, forcing me to lie tucked against his side—something I loved so much that I instinctually avoided it at all costs. I simply couldn’t allow myself to get used to the way my whole body warmed or the feeling of security he gave me with the simple drape of his arm. I knew that, if I ever lost it, I’d never be able to enjoy my life in the cold world that was left behind. I didn’t need to know how truly amazing life could be at his side.

Rolling away, I asked, “Do you think you’ll ever be able to walk again?”

He let out a groan that I thought had more to do with me moving than the question. “I don’t know. I hope so, but I’m not sure. I mean, my doctors say it’s promising that I can move my legs. But I try not to get my hopes up. Disappointment’s a real bitch.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I answered, remembering his little revelation about Eliza.

“It is what it is,” he said, dismissing the topic as he scooted over an inch and pulled me back against his side.

That time, I didn’t move away. Instead, I gave myself a minute to dream of a future with Flint. It was the best dream I had ever made up—and a dream that would later turn into a nightmare, haunting me for years to come.





Me: What are you doing today?

Ash: Sitting on your couch?

Me: Excellent answer.

Ash: I’m glad you approve.

Me: You want to go to a birthday party with me?

Ash: Oh. My. God! I’ve never been to a birthday party!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Wow! That’s a lot of exclamation points!

Ash: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: You done yet?

Ash: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Should I wait for an answer or just assume the exclamation points are a yes?

Ash: !!!!!!! Ok. I’m done now. !!!! Sorry those just slipped.

Me: So . . . party?

Ash: Yes, I’ll go! Q told me there was going to be a clown and a bounce house.

Me: Probably.

Ash: Pick me up at 12:30. We need to stop so I can get a present.

Me: Cool. See you then.

Ash: <3 <3 <3

I tossed my phone on counter and stared at the invitation to Blakely Page’s first birthday sitting on the table in front of me. It seemed my secret whereabouts weren’t all that secret anymore. I wasn’t sure if Quarry or Slate had finally spilled my address, but earlier that morning, I’d opened the front door to find Till standing on my welcome mat. He hadn’t said a single word as he’d handed me the invitation, but the muscles in his neck had strained, letting me know he’d had a ton of pissed-off words to say and was struggling to keep them under wraps—a fact I immensely appreciated.

He’d slowly backed away, pausing just before he turned toward the parking lot.

“I know for a fact that f*cking door works. Use it,” he’d gritted out before disappearing.

I’d sat there staring at the pink envelope in my hand while Till’s old truck rumbled away. He was a millionaire and he still drove that hunk of junk everywhere. Eliza drove a top-of-the-line SUV, and even the van he’d bought me had every possible bell and whistle imaginable. Yet Till still drove the same truck that had already been a piece of shit when he’d bought it years earlier.