Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“Me too.” Declan slumped against me, wrapping my arms tighter around him like an additional blanket. “I was so mad when Joey called earlier. I don’t have answers for the team. Or me. But then, here with you like this, I’m not as angry about the delay in getting back out there.”
“Here is a pretty good place to be,” I agreed, trying not to dwell on how fleeting this moment in time likely was.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Declan turned slightly to gaze up at me. “How did you move on after your family kicked you out? Like, you’re not a bitter person now. But in your shoes, I think I’d die mad. How do you start your whole life over without letting the anger win?”
“I didn’t have much choice.” I exhaled hard. This was something I’d thought about a lot over the years. “But more to your point about being bitter, that part is more of a choice. I could have easily been bitter. Or let sadness win.”
“Sadness is almost worse than anger,” he whispered in a pained voice I felt down to my soul. “It feels miserable, like wearing wet sneakers all day. And there’s absolutely nothing to be done for it.”
“But there is,” I countered, snuggling him even closer, like I alone could keep him warm from the world’s chill. “You can move on. It’s not easy, especially when the loss is huge.”
“And not your fault.” Declan sounded righteously enraged. After his accident, several motocross commenters had remarked on what a fluke the crash was. One wrong rut, no one’s fault, especially not Declan’s. And he seemed to have transferred that to anger on my behalf. “Your family should be miserable, not you.”
“But I’m not miserable. That’s what I’m trying to say. Sometimes bad things happen that aren’t our fault, but moving on, that’s a choice.” I paused, but Declan didn’t say anything, merely continuing to glower like he was ready to do battle with problematic birth families and the realities of motorcycle racing. “I moved on with my life, literally picking up and leaving the state. I could have continued to try to stay in contact, to be a part of my family’s world, but that wouldn’t have been healthy for me. Instead, I tried to find a life here that would give me new meaning and joy.”
“What if racing is the only thing that brings me joy?” Declan scrubbed at his eyes and didn’t give me a chance to answer before he made a rude noise. “Gah. I’m tired of being a sad sack. Maybe I do need a hobby.”
“Finding new sources of happiness isn’t a bad idea.” I tried not to sound condescending. Moving on was easy to say and hard to do. “Isn’t there anything else that makes you at least a little happy?”
“You.” Declan gave me a stubborn stare that dared me to object. “Being with you, reading, cuddling, touching, all that. I’m happy here. But I can’t stay here forever.”
“You could.” I stroked his shoulders and neck. Give me a star, a lucky penny, a wishing well. Something. Because if I could ask the universe for one thing, it would be exactly that. But he didn’t need my heaviness right then, so I forced a chuckle. “I mean, eventually, we might get hungry or need to pee.”
“Screw reality.” Declan yanked me down so we were almost face to face. “Kiss me.”
Chapter Twenty
Declan
Making out under fuzzy blankets in front of a roaring fire felt like something out of a movie, not my real life. I’d tried to be a romantic boyfriend for my previous short-term girlfriends but had usually failed to deliver. That was why I’d made an effort with Valentine’s Day. Not that Jonas was my boyfriend, but I didn’t want to miss the mark yet again.
And unlike with others, I wasn’t in competition with Jonas. The success of the evening wasn’t based on who did more or better than the other. Instead, we’d worked together, his efforts with the table and our cozy blanket nest complimenting mine with the brownies and books.
We’d already stripped down to our boxers to huddle under the covers, and all that skin-to-skin contact magnified even the simplest of kisses. I loved how fuzzy Jonas was—beard, chest, legs—and how his body hair rasped against my smoother skin. I had a decent amount of reddish chest hair, but nothing like Jonas. One of my favorite things was wriggling against him, luxuriating in all the contrasts and sensations.
“Why do I like kissing you so much?” I ran a hand down his torso. During kissing, I’d rolled so we were facing, and I was sprawled half on top of him.
“Maybe I’m that good at it?” Jonas teased, eyes sparkling. He waved his fingers in the air like he was casting a spell. “Or maybe it’s magic.”