Chicks, Man

She reaches out to catch the tears trailing down my face, her thumb brushing against my cheek. “I can’t seem to understand…grasp what happened. My mind fights me at every turn. But what I do know is I fought. I remember fighting. I didn’t want our argument to be the last we had with each other. I remember wanting to fight for that.” Her chest constricts, and I worry this is too much for her. “I don’t remember why I stopped fighting. I couldn’t get free. I couldn’t stop him—”

“Stop. You did what you had to do. You survived. That’s all that fucking matters.” I need her to hear my words and have them blanket her doubt. “Han, you did fight. You never stopped.”

“Yeah but look what he did to you. You’re hurt.” Her fingers graze against the bandage around my ear. “He was here. He tried to—” Her throat constricts, a sob breaking through her lips.

My heart shatters in two. After the hell she’s been through, her concern is for me. I let her hand go. Ignoring the restriction of my back, I climb onto the bed and cradle her into my side. “I would do everything again a million times over if it meant you were safe. If it meant you would forgive me. If it meant you were able to walk away from this still being that strong, ironclad future president I love more than my own life.”

Her body stiffens in my arms, and her head whips up, knocking my chin. We both groan, and she tries to scurry away from me. “I don’t think so,” I say, squeezing her closer.

“No, wait.” She pushes again, and I let her up. “What did you just say?” Her eyes are an ocean of hope, and I gaze into them, losing myself to the depths of possibilities. Fear of the unknown. I’m anxious and afraid at once, worried about choosing the wrong words to express this solid mass inside me that lives and grows and feeds off her every smile, laugh, grunt. My heart beats in a drum-like fashion to her song, the melody of chords paving the way to limitless possibilities.

I adjust our position so her back is against the shitty hospital bed while I hover over her as best I can without pulling out her IV. I inhale a deep breath for strength, praying she understands, feels what I feel. I open my mouth, but I worry the words won’t come out right. She won’t feel the gravity of my promise.

The backs of my knuckles skate against her cheek, the feel of her offering me strength. “If someone would have asked me ten years ago what the biggest rush in life was, hands down, I’d answer football. There was nothing that could have possibly compared to it. Nothing that set fire to my soul like the intensity and passion of the game. That rush I felt while crushing my cleats against the turf. The way I dominated that field like a hawk flying yard for yard until I crossed over that touchdown line? God, I can still taste it. But one day, that rush took a new course, and I found a whole new high: law. I wasn’t beating my body up like football. Getting high off each tackle. But power comes in many forms. The day I hung up my jersey and helmet for a suit and a voice, it was like no rush I’ve truly ever felt before. Helping people. Saving lives. That took its spot. Fighting in a courtroom for someone who can’t fight for themselves. That’s a fucking rush.”

I stop and extend my tongue, wetting my bottom lip. Understanding casts over her eyes, giving me the fuel I need to continue. “If someone would have asked me four months ago, the answers may have stayed the same, or I would have stumbled over them because I’d begun to question what truly drives me. Ask me three months ago, and I would have probably socked someone because my head and heart were at war and I couldn’t answer it. Fought myself to understand what that feeling inside me was. It was a rush all right, more powerful than a game or a court case, because I didn’t know how to win it. Ask me a month ago, three weeks, today? And I would tell you this force has dug its way so deep into my soul, it’s blinded me along the way. It was this unstoppable force that turned my life upside down. A rush so intense, I’m not sure I deserve it. But it’s inside me, and I want to fight to fucking keep it.”

Her tears cause pause. I stop to place my lips against hers. “I’m probably fucking this up.” Her head shakes back and forth, and I release a breath of relief. “Hannah, I’ve lived, but I’ve never truly loved until you. Everything in life has been so surface level. And then you. My wild, mouthy, sexy, intelligent—shit, I can go on—little anchor sucked me into the depths of your world, and I can’t get enough of it. I love you. Maybe I always have.”