Coming Home (The Surrender Trilogy 3)

exactly where she knew he would be. His expression softened the minute he noticed her, his arm

lifting invitingly.

She climbed onto his lap and rested her head on his bare shoulder as those strong arms closed

around her. Breathing in his familiar scent, she realized, like the scent of burning leaves or the scent of the cots at the shelter, his rich musk now held a very special nostalgic place in her heart.

He always smelled so fresh and good. Her mother, when she was clean, had a stronger scent that

wasn’t unpleasant, just . . . different. Pearl often smelled of cold weather, briny and sort of metallic, like winter. Parker smelled like most boys. Evelyn wondered what she smelled like.

Pressing her nose into Lucian’s throat, she inhaled deeply. Lovely.

His hand coasted over her tangled hair. “I miss you being here all the time.”

She missed him too. It was a difficult predicament. Part of her demanded this physical space

between them, but another part longed for the convenience of always having him near. Her

independence was something she longed for. She’d always had it, but this time it was different. It was

on her terms, not based on uncontrollable circumstance. She wanted to hold on to that hard-earned

freedom with both hands.

She wasn’t sure when she’d be satisfied, but expected one day she’d be comfortable enough to let it

all go and surrender to the currents of life. The tides had changed. She no longer had the sense of

drowning.

Her exhaustion was welcome. It was one that followed a hard day’s work and too much thinking

over written words and elementary math equations. It was a good sort of tired, nothing like the

unending hunger that came with her previous nomadic existence. Yet it was all so new, and that was

why she had trouble trusting its perpetuity.

“I know. I miss it too.”

“Will you ever come back to me?”

She loved these moments tucked away in the shadows of the night. It was their confessional, where

eyes needn’t meet and secrets could be told. “Yes. When I’m ready.”

Warm lips pressed into her temple. “How often will you see Jason?”

“As often as he can manage. I have years and years of missing out to make up for. I want to learn as

fast as my brain can manage.”

“Don’t burn yourself out.”

“I don’t understand that concept.”

“I know you don’t. You’re like the little engine that could. Quitting’s a foreign term to you.”

“It’s grueling,” she admitted.

“What is? Never letting yourself give up?”

“Yes. There were times I thought about not moving. About just giving over to the frigid lock on my

bones and the hollow feeling in my belly. There were days it was simply impossible to move my

fingers, all my energy going into shivering uncontrollably, where my hunger became an emotion I

couldn’t contain. But I always forced myself to find food and something to keep that fire burning.”

“I can’t fathom that sort of existence. It’s so far from the privilege I’ve known. It’s a wonder we

found each other.”

Yes. It was. “Do you know . . . out of all those freezing winters and hungry nights, the emptiness I

felt when we were apart put those aches to shame.”

He stilled, even the breath in his chest coming to a halt. “I’ll never regret anything as much as those days apart. I was a fool and I’m so sorry I did that to both of us.”

Her lashes lowered and she found comfort again in his scent. It was the affirmation that she needed,

telling her he was truly there. So many nights she’d tried to conjure his scent, searching for it in items he’d left behind, but it didn’t exist. “I don’t think I’d go if you asked me to leave again.”

“There are lots of things I wish to ask you again. Leaving’s not one of them.”

He was referring to marriage. No matter how much their time apart taught her how she needed him

in her life, marriage was still something she wasn’t ready for. Oddly, they fit each other. While some

might assume debutantes of high society would be better suited for a man of Lucian’s stature, they

were wrong. Something inside of her—some very stingy part—knew he was made for her and she was

made for him. But the time to confirm such feelings was not now.

She wondered if she’d ever reach a point that she could agree to such commitment without a thread

of uncertainty. When she’d met Lucian, she’d assumed intimate relationships were as black and white

as anything else. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Love was like piloting a jet through a mountain range, blind. It was freeing and exhilarating, but at

the same time, at any second the person risking their life piloting that plane could crash and burn,

shattering into nothing but dust—all for one glorious ride.

When the sun came up they ordered breakfast. Her body was tired from many hours of lovemaking

and not enough hours of sleep. She savored every bite of her delicious scrambled eggs. Raphael, the