The Plight Before Christmas(103)

Hand shaking, I untie the ribbon, the porch light enough to read the cover—Whitney’s Birthday Bucket List. Flipping the hard cover, I gape as I scan through the first few photos in the book. The first picture is of Eli and an instructor skydiving, both with thumbs up, a tropical-looking ocean behind them on the horizon. The second page is an image of Eli’s freshly-inked tattoo, two distinct heartbeats, a dotted line between them. I flip more pages as my vision again blurs. Eli taking a selfie while standing at the finish line of The Boston Marathon, his run time on the clock behind him. Eli standing on The Great Wall of China. I flip through each page, mind completely blown.

“You did all of them?”

“All but two,” he admits softly. “I stopped last year when I caught up to your age. I think secretly, I always hoped we would do the last of them together. It just didn’t feel right carrying on anymore. The irony is, that list was the only thing you left behind. In a way, your list saved me. Your goals became my goals. I’ve spent every birthday since we broke up—with you.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“When I got restless in Chicago to the point I knew I needed change, all I could think of was moving back here, to North Carolina. When I realized Brenden was your brother—shortly after we started working together—and saw that picture, Jesus Christ, talk about being struck by lightning.”

He shakes his head as if dazed. “Finding out you never married or had children…God, that fucked me up. I couldn’t figure it out…I was almost angry at you for it, but then I remembered one important thing.”

He takes another step toward me.

“I hadn’t either. I hadn’t done any part of what I thought I would deny you, either. It’s so obvious to me now why I didn’t. Why I haven’t given my whole heart to any other woman as completely as I did you.” He fists his hands at his side. “You were, are, the love of my life, Whitney Collins.”

“Eli, I, I,” my voice shakes, and my lips tremble as words fail me.

“I was so thankful for whatever brought me back to your door, if for no other reason than to tell you in person that I’m sorry. That being with you impacted me in ways I could never forget you, that it changed me. I’m not telling you this to try to guilt you into forgiving me, because I saw that you did, tonight when you sang for me. I felt it. Am I wrong?”

“No.”

He takes long strides toward me, closing the space.

“I loved you,” he declares, the intensity in his eyes enough to knock the breath out of me. When he reaches me, he thrusts his hands into my hair. Cupping the back of my head, he lingers, his lips a breath away. “I loved you so much. I was crazy fucking in love with you.” He strokes my face with gentle thumbs, “and I don’t think I ever fell out.” A soft sob escapes me as he brushes the running tears from my cheeks.

“I loved you too…but you know that,” I sniff.

“I did, Bee…I knew. I’m so sorry I made it so hard.” I grip his wrists as he tenderly strokes my face. “Please, Whitney, can I kis—”

“You’re already wasting time,” I murmur before he eats the space up and sweeps me into his kiss. A moan escapes me when he slides his tongue across the seam of my lips, and I open for him, his tongue delving without hesitation as he feeds. He draws me into him, clutching me as if both our lives depend on it.

“Jesus, Bee,” Eli whispers as he unravels my robe and palms my back, lifting me slightly so I can better receive his kiss.

Eyes stinging with tears, completely enraptured, I take everything he gives greedily as our mouths sync into an effortless rhythm that feeds every part of my starving heart. This kiss is recognition and reigniting, just as his presence has been since the second he got here. He kisses me for endless minutes as if everything he wants to say is behind it, and I can feel it—his wordless declarations, and I return them one by one. He wants me. He wants me now, who I am now. When he pulls away, his eyes are glazed, and I burn his expression into memory.

“It hurt like hell when I let you go. I can’t regret ending us, but please don’t think it’s because I wanted to. I had to, Whitney. I had to for both our sakes. I don’t think we would have made it then, which made the decision the right one at the time. I’d be lying though if I told you letting you walk away didn’t rip my fucking heart out. I missed you so much. I felt like I lost half of myself.” He rubs my tears away. “If you let me back in. If you’ll let me…” his voice grows hoarse, “if you let me back in, Whitney—”

“You were never out.”

His eyes close briefly, the most beautiful, most serene smile gracing his lips.

“I was a fool to let you go, but I—Jesus, Whitney, fuck then, I want you now. I want to know whatever I don’t. I want to try this again as the man I am, not the terrified boy I was. I’ll do whatever you want if it means feeling this way again because, with anyone else, I’ve never fucking come close.”

“Me neither,” I confess with a sniff.

“I’m terrified to fail you, but I want this, want you.”

“Me too.”

His features twist with relief as he slides his thumbs along my cheeks. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve talked to—”

I shake my head in his hands. “I needed it. I needed to hear it. I feel like…in a way…it feels like you brought me back to life.”