The Lost Fisherman (Fisherman #2)(35)

“Shirt for you.” Opening the door just enough to squeeze his hand through, he handed me a T-shirt.

“It will be huge on you, but it might also cover the stain on your pants.”

I nodded slowly as my gaze dropped to the T-shirt in my hand. “I’m really sorry about your chair. I’ll pay for any damage or a new chair.” Turning my back to the door, I dropped the hand towel and slipped on his shirt.

“Angie is drinking too much wine tonight. I can’t let her drive home. So she’ll stay here.”

I turned. “I wasn’t talking about Angie’s level of sobriety. I was talking about your chair.”

“Well, I don’t give a fuck about the chair.”

After clenching my teeth for a few seconds, I fired back. “Well I don’t give one if she stays here or not. I’m not stupid. I know you’re having sex with her. You told me, and I was with you when you purchased condoms.”

There was no other way to describe that moment other than to say, I had super fucking (necessary use of the word) hero bravery to say those words to him without my heart exploding through my chest and shattering onto the floor. The thought of him having sex with Angie … it was unbearable. My chest felt physical pain that worked its way up my throat, twisting into a tight knot that made every word a struggle to get out of my mouth.

Burning eyes.

Racing heart.

Nauseous stomach.

But the bravest of faces.

Because … because I loved Fisher, and even if my chances of happiness with him were less than one percent, he was worth it.

Fisher deflated a little like I had disappointed him. I wasn’t trying to disappoint him or anyone for that matter. That was why I agreed to go camping. That was why I kept my feelings about Angie and him locked up tightly.

“It was a box of twelve. The box is unopened. All twelve are there now. All twelve will be there in the morning.”

My gaze remained averted out of self-preservation, and I shrugged. “Whatever.” I wadded my dirty shirt in my hand and opened the door, brushing past him. As soon as I noticed Angie, Rose, and Rory still hard at work on the stained chair, using some bottle of special cleaner, I turned back around. My hands landed on Fisher’s chest, catching him off guard as I pushed him down the hallway to his bedroom.

I didn’t turn on the light or shut his door. I guided him through the room, to his bathroom, stopping in his closet. A slow dance lit only by some moonlight filtering through the window shades and skylights.

Dropping the wet shirt to the floor, I crumpled his shirt in my fists and pulled him to me, pressing my lips to his—giving him all my unspoken emotions in that one slow kiss.

His good hand tangled in my hair, deepening the kiss, and I softly moaned. I loved our bubble, but I hated the fate of it, like the fate of every bubble. Eventually, all bubbles popped.

Pulling back, I released his mouth but kept my hold on his neck so he kept his lips close to mine as I whispered, “I’m in. I’m in as long as you want me to be in your life. Even on the days it hurts like hell. I’m in.”

He rested his forehead on mine and blew out a slow breath. “Can I tell you something truly terrible?”

I grinned, lifting my chin and brushing my lips against his as I giggled. “Tell me.”

Fisher dragged his mouth along my cheek, depositing small kisses on his way to my ear. “The only memories of my past I want to get back … are the ones of you.”

There was no way out of whatever it was that all of us were in together. And I knew it wasn’t if things fell apart in the most tragic fashion … it was when.

Rory would be hurt, angry, and disappointed in me and Fisher and Rose too.

And either Angie or I would be left alone. Fisherman-less. Undeniably heartbroken. And even if other feelings like resentment or anger played a part, the only thing that would last forever would be the Fisher-sized vacancy in someone’s chest.

I should have had the advantage of knowing that he had a choice to make. And it should have prepared me. But there was no way to prepare for losing the one you loved more than any other.

As he started to release his hold on me, I tightened my grip on him. “Ten more seconds,” I whispered, nestling my face into his neck and taking a deep inhale.

Fisher counted down from ten.

“Ten.”

Kiss on my head.

“Nine.”

Another kiss.

All the way to one.

When he released me, when we released each other, I had all I needed to make it another day, another round. Another mile in the marathon.





Chapter Sixteen





That first cry.

There really was nothing that signified life more than a baby’s first cry. It was like she announced her place in the world. As equal and deserving as anyone else.

Life would be hard.

Life would be beautiful.

And she would have to fight to find the courage to keep that voice, not be silenced by guilt or circumstance. She would have to make difficult choices—sometimes choosing her own happiness over someone else’s happiness.

Who did we die for?

Who did we live for?

Was there a right answer?

“Oh … my … gosh …” I breathed the words in astonishment.

“You’re witnessing a rare moment.” Holly glanced over at me and smiled as she delivered a baby en caul—in an intact amniotic sac.