Stay with Me (With Me in Seattle 9)

“I hate that word when you use it in regards to us,” I reply. “Because that’s not what we did.”

“I see that now,” he says with a nod. “And I apologize for ever implying that that’s what it is.”

“Was,” I correct him. “Because we don’t have anything now.”

He blinks rapidly, watching me with eyes full of heartache, and I want to pull the words back. Except, they aren’t untrue.

“This isn’t love, Wyatt. Accusations and the silent treatment? Not listening and talking through issues? That’s not love. And I’ll be damned if I do that again because I deserve to be loved.”

“You are loved, damn it.”

“Am I?” I prop my hands on my hips now. “Let’s say we work this out, and we are together. I’ll always be afraid of saying the wrong thing, or making a mistake and having you walk out the door again.” Tears fill my eyes, and I brush at them impatiently, feeling the hurt surround my heart at the memory of it all. “I couldn’t survive it twice.”

“I’m so sorry.” He pushes his hands through his hair and paces in a circle. “Jesus, I want to reach for you so badly my body aches with it.”

“Don’t touch me.” I hug my arms around myself and shake my head slowly. “I can’t have you touch me.”

“Amelia, I fucked up so big. I get it. It’s all I can think about. I miss you.”

He swallows hard, and I can’t look away from him. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, and all I can do is listen.

“You set my soul on fire. Does that sound cheesy?” He smiles softly. “I didn’t know that the fire was gone until I met you, and it was like I was in the middle of an inferno. You gave me a new purpose every day. Every. Day.

“I was so afraid to love you, to really give you all of my love because love had hurt me in the past—”

“Love didn’t hurt you,” I interrupt him. His hands fall to his sides. “Someone incapable of loving you, hurt you. Don’t get it twisted, Wyatt. This is something I’ve had to learn myself.”

“You’re right,” he says with a nod. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I can’t be punished for her lack of love,” I reply softly. “I need someone fearless in their love for me. Someone who is more afraid of losing me than of the possibility of being hurt.”

“That’s accurate,” he says with a nod. “We both deserve that. And, Lia, you have it. I wish I could adequately explain this to you, so I’m going to try. I get lost in you, in the best way there is. I look into your eyes, and I see myself there. I see my own feelings shining back at me, and that’s completely new to me.

“Your voice gives me butterflies. Your touch ignites every nerve ending in my body. And when we’re together, well, it’s the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be, I’ll tell you that. I look at you, and I just love you. I love you so much that it terrifies me, and fills me with so much joy I think I might die from it.

“I’m so sorry for the way I acted, and I feel like a complete fool for not listening, for not working with you through it. It’s the biggest regret and mistake of my life, and I’m standing here, baring my soul to you, praying that it’s not too late to make it all right again. I need you, Amelia. I need you every fucking day of my life.”

I chew on my lip, tears streaming down my cheeks. If this right here isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

“We have to work on it. This is going to be the most important job of our lives, Wyatt.”

He swallows hard.

“Does this mean that you’ll give me another chance?”

I nod, and I’m suddenly caught up in his arms, being swung around and hugged tighter than I ever have been.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he says and sets me on my feet, framing my face in his hands and staring intently into my eyes. “It almost killed me.”

“You broke me,” I admit softly as he brushes a tear with his thumb. “I don’t know that I’ve felt pain like that before, Wyatt. I need you to promise that it won’t happen again.”

“Never.” His voice is firm and sure. “I’ll never intentionally hurt you, my love.”

“And I would never hurt you, either. You need to trust and remember that when you feel insecure or worried.”

“I know.”

He tips his forehead to mine.

“I’m so relieved that you’re home.”

I smile and grip his wrists in my hands. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“That technicality that almost ended us? It’s done. As of yesterday, I’m a divorced woman.”

“Thank Christ.” He crushes his mouth to mine and lifts me effortlessly into his arms, carrying me to my chaise lounge and sits with me in his lap. “The idea of him still being tied to you made me homicidal.”

“No need for that,” I assure him and rest my head on his shoulder. “I have something else to tell you, and we might as well do this now in case it’s another deal-breaker.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t even tense up under me.

“Not worried?”

“I don’t think I have any more deal-breakers where you’re concerned but go ahead.”

I reach for my phone and bring up the photos from the shoot earlier in the week. “I’ve done well with my career, Wyatt. I make a good living and can afford things that make me happy. But I’m about to become a very wealthy woman.”

I show him the photos, the campaign plans for the brand, the contract with Sephora’s branding at the top.

“Why in the hell would this be a deal-breaker?”

“Because maybe you don’t want to be a with a woman who earns more money than you.”

He snorts. “Sweetheart, your job doesn’t affect my job. The fact that this is happening for you is so fucking amazing and wonderful, and the product of your own hard work. I’ll be happy to support you and help you in any way I can.”

He kisses my forehead.

“And you should know, I do pretty well myself.”

“I know, and I’m proud of you, too. So proud.” I sit up so I can look into his eyes. “I think you’re brilliant and amazing.”

“Thank you.” His lips twitch. “I’m not an asshole. Make millions. Buy all the things that you want. Quit your job tomorrow and become a tomato farmer for all I care. As long as I get to be standing next to you through all of it, I’m the happiest man in the world.”

“I love you.” I kiss him and nuzzle into him again. “I’m finally home.”

Three months later . . .

~Amelia~

“Come with me.”

I sigh as I finish breaking down a box and throw it on the pile by the front door. “I’m so damn tired of moving. It’s exhausting, and I’m over it.”

“I know. We’re almost finished.” He pulls me to him and kisses me in that way he does when he’s feeling particularly in the mood.

“I don’t have time for hanky-panky,” I say, pushing against his chest, but not too hard. I don’t want him to let go, after all. “And I’m sweaty. That’s not sexy.”

“You’re always sexy,” he says and kisses the tip of my nose. “And I have something for you.”