Ugly Love: A Novel(88)
“Listen, Tate,” I tell her. “I want your mess. I want your clothes on my bedroom floor. I want your toothbrush in my bathroom. I want your shoes in my closet. I want your mediocre leftovers in my fridge.”
She laughs at that.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” I say, pulling the other box from my pocket. I hold it up between us and open it, revealing the ring. “I also want you in my future. Forever.”
Her mouth is open in shock, and she’s staring at the ring. She’s frozen. I hope she doesn’t have doubts, because I have absolutely none when it comes to wanting to spend the rest of my life with her. I know it’s only been six months, but when you know, you know.
Her silence makes me nervous, so I quickly remove the ring and pick up her hand. “Will you break rule number two with me, Tate? Because I really want to marry you.”
She doesn’t even have to say yes. Her tears and her kiss and her laugh say it for her.
She pulls back and looks at me with so much love and appreciation it makes my chest hurt.
She’s absolutely beautiful. Her hope is beautiful. The smile on her face is beautiful. The tears streaming down her cheeks are beautiful.
Her
love
is
beautiful.
She exhales a soft breath and leans in slowly, gently pressing her lips to mine. Her kiss is filled with tenderness and affection and an unspoken promise that she’s mine now.
Forever.
“Miles,” she whispers against my mouth, teasing my lips with hers. “I’ve never made love in an airplane before.”
A smile immediately forms on my lips. It’s as if she somehow infiltrated my thoughts.
“I’ve never made love to my fiancée before,” I say in response.
Her hands slowly slide down my neck and shirt until her fingers meet the button on my jeans.
“Well, I think we need to rectify that,” she says, ending her sentence with a kiss.
When her mouth meets mine again, it’s as if every last piece of my armor disintegrates and every last piece of ice surrounding the glacier that was my heart melts and evaporates.
Whoever coined the phrase, I love you to death obviously never experienced the kind of love Tate and I share.
If that were the case, the phrase would be I love you to life.
Because that’s exactly what Tate did.
She loved me back to life.
The
end.
EPILOGUE
I think back to the day I married her.
It was one of the best days of my life.
I remember standing next to Ian and Corbin at the end of the aisle. We were waiting for her to walk through the doors when Corbin leaned over and whispered something to me.
He said, “You’re the only one who could have ever met my standards for her, Miles. I’m happy it’s you.”
I was happy it was me, too.
That was more than two years ago, and every day since then, I’ve somehow fallen in love with her a little bit more.
Or flew, rather.
I didn’t cry the day I married her, though.
Her tears were
falling
falling
falling
that day,
but mine weren’t.
I was convinced they never would.
Not in the way I wished they could.
It was eight months ago when we found out we were having a baby.
We weren’t trying to have a baby, but we also weren’t not trying.
“If it happens it happens,” Tate said.
It happened.
When we found out, we were both excited.
She cried.
Her tears were
falling
falling
falling,
but mine weren’t.
As excited as I was, I was also scared.
I was scared of the fear that comes along with loving someone that much.
Scared of everything bad that could happen.
I was scared that my memories would take away from the day I became a father again.
Well, it just happened.
And I’m still scared.
Terrified.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor says.
A girl.
We just had a baby girl.
I just became a father again.
Tate just became a mother.
Feel something, Miles.
Tate looks up at me.
I know she can see the fear in my eyes. I also know how much pain she’s in right now, but she still somehow manages a smile.
“Sam,” she whispers, saying her name out loud for the first time. Tate insisted we name her Sam in honor of Cap’s real name, Samuel.
I wouldn’t have had it any other way.
The nurse walks over to Tate and lays Sam in her arms.
Tate begins to cry.
My eyes are still dry.
I’m still too scared to look away from Tate and down at our daughter.
I’m not afraid of what I’ll feel when I look at her.
I’m afraid of what I won’t feel.
I’m terrified my past experiences have ruined any ability I have to feel what every father should feel in this moment.
“Come here,” Tate says, wanting me closer.
I sit down next to them on the bed.
She hands Sam to me, and my hands are shaking, but I take her anyway.
I close my eyes and release a slow breath before finding the courage to open them again.