Where We Belong (A Touch of Fate #1)(92)
Harley: Can we talk?
Responding isn’t an option, because right now I just need to see her. Running for the door, I fling it open, and come face-to-face with Harley. My beautiful Harley. She’s standing before me, her once vibrant green eyes now dull and puffy, her cheeks shimmering with tears. My hands itch to reach for her, but I can’t—not yet.
My phone pings again, but I hesitate to check it, afraid that if I look away she might disappear. Is it possible that I’ve thought about her and wished for her so many times that somehow my mind was able to conjure her up?
“You’ve got a text,” she says with a small grin, pointing to my phone.
“Is it from you?” I ask cautiously, afraid to get my hopes up. Her small grin turns into a shy smile and she nods.
“What does it say?”
“It says, ‘I love you too,’” she whispers.
Relief floods my body, and this time I don’t think twice about yanking her into my arms and smashing her to my chest. She half laughs, half cries when she buries her face in my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she hiccups, sniffing her nose.
I pull back a fraction and look down into the face of my forever. “Did you just snot me?” She snorts with laughter, tightening her grip around my waist. Sliding my hands up the length of her delicate back, I cup her face between my hands.
“Do you forgive me?” she asks.
Tilting my head forward, I brush my lips across hers and she whimpers. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She tries to protest, but I seal my mouth over her lips, drinking in her words. Her tongue tangles with mine, and with each glide she manages to soothe my aching soul. I pull my mouth from hers just enough to see her eyes, which are now shining with love. “I think the more important question is, do you forgive me?” She opens her mouth to respond, but I lay my finger against her lips. “I’m so sorry, Harley. I know I f*cked up—again—the other night. I should have never accused you of the things I accused you of.” Tears start running down her flushed cheeks and I wipe them away with my thumbs. “I believe you. Of course I believe you. I just wasn’t ready to accept it. I was upset and angry and I took it out on you, and I’m so very sorry for that.”
“It’s okay,” she cries, tightening her hands around my back. We stand there, in the doorway to my house, holding onto each other for dear life. Her tears slowly stop falling and she kisses me gently. “I forgive you, too,” she whispers against my mouth. “So we’re good now?”
“We’re better than good. You came back to me and nothing else matters. We’ve got this.” Her answering smile is all I need to know that she feels the same way, but her next words are what seal the deal.
She unwinds her arm from around my back and sticks her hand in the air. “Pinky swear?”
“I’M NERVOUS.”
“You got this!” I look down into a set of chocolate eyes. Every time I look at Max, I now see Dallas—and that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Don’t get me wrong, if my brother wasn’t already dead, I’d f*cking kill him for what he did. But after a lot of talks and a lot of tears with Harley, I’ve learned to accept it.
Suffice it to say that not everything has been peachy keen after the night we reconciled on my doorstep. We’ve both battled through the guilt and regret of everything that we’ve been through, but we made it. Sure, we’ve had disagreements and arguments along the way, but what couple hasn’t?
Our biggest one was over why she didn’t call the cops after her attack. It warmed my heart to hear that she did it to protect my family and me, but I still wish she had turned the bastard in. Of course, I won’t tell her that because she’s convinced that she’s right and it’s just easier to agree—and more importantly, it doesn’t make a difference at this point anyway.
“What if she says no?” What the hell is wrong with me? I’m talking to a kid in kindergarten.
Max reaches up to smooth his hands down the front of my shirt, and I can’t help but laugh. He’s such a little grown-up. “Then you should throw a fit,” he says, matter-of-fact. I raise an eyebrow, cocking my head. I’m not going to lie: I’m slightly terrified to hear what’s going to come out of his mouth next.
“A fit?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “That’s what I do.” Bending over, I grab Max around the waist and toss him over my shoulder.
“You’re a genius, little dude!”
“I know,” he mumbles into my back as we walk to the car. “Are we going to Grandma and Grandpa’s now?”
“Yup,” I reply, opening the car door so that Max can climb in. I love that he likes going to my parents’ house. That was another source of contention between Harley and me. It took me a long time to wrap my head around why she chose to keep Max away from my parents, and to be honest, I’m still not sure I understand her reasoning. But I can’t change it—the past is the past—and we pinky swore to put the past behind us.
Together, Harley and I had a very delicate conversation with my parents. We told them about the attack—and about Max. It was an emotional gathering, with a few cuss words, lots of hugs, and even more tears. But my parents harbor no ill feelings about it; they’re just happy to have Max—and Harley—in their lives.