For Lucy

“Say it,” I whisper.

Her face reddens.

“Say it, Tatum. You’ve never said the actual words. So how can you expect me to believe them?”

“Don’t …” The muscles in her face quiver, falling victim to the pain—the truth.

Common sense and decency tell me to keep my distance, to not touch her. Yet, my hand makes its way to her face, and my heart twists at the way it still fits so perfectly in my palm. Hard knots in the pit of my stomach tighten when she shivers from my touch. “You hate one thing. And only one thing,” I whisper.

Her gaze won’t meet mine. It remains on my chest as my hand holds her face hostage. Even the tiny muscle in her nose twitches like it’s always done when she gets angry.

“You hate that you love me.”

“Let me go,” she says on a shallow breath.

But my hand is no longer on her face. It’s never been me holding her back. It’s never been my hands keeping her hostage. I’ve always loved her with open arms. My love has never been forced. It’s always been free. She’s the one who cannot walk away. And she knows she needs me to take the blame for that too.

So I do.

Because that’s how I love her.

THEN

Eight months and five days.

That’s how long we spent living out of an RV across the country. We combed beaches on both coasts and the Gulf of Mexico. We hiked mountains east and west of the Mississippi.

My parents thought it was the right decision. Always supportive. My brother thought I was incredibly irresponsible for leaving a good job. He warned me that I wouldn’t be guaranteed a position upon my return. His wife, Andi, gave me a wink behind his back, ensuring me I would in fact have a job if I still wanted it.

I think she envied our chance at really living life where she quickly and unexpectedly had to settle into motherhood without having had a chance to sow wild oats.

Tatum’s parents didn’t disown her, but they were split on how they felt about her actions. Her mom found it romantic, but it made her nervous. And her dad gave nothing more than a grumble and head shake. But in the end, he gave her the longest hug goodbye and made her promise to call him if she needed rescuing.

Our adventure, although epic and unforgettable, didn’t come without its hitches.

We fought. I spent more than one night sleeping in a dinky tent outside of the RV.

We made up. Sometimes that involved a look—a silent apology—that led to ripping off each other’s clothes in places that were public, like restaurant bathrooms, dark alleys, under towels on a beach, or against a big tree just feet from main trails in the mountains. I have never felt as alive as I did in those moments.

Everything we did with so much passion, it felt like we were our own elemental force. We didn’t just fall in love, we collided until our souls tangled, until we knew any attempt to live without each other would leave us crippled.

“Stop.” Tatum rested her hand on my leg as I pulled the RV into my parents’ long driveway, the end of our break from reality.

“What is it?”

She reached over and shoved the RV into Park. Then she climbed onto my lap as I fumbled with the seat to move it back to accommodate her.

“What’s going on?” I laughed.

Frightened was the only word to describe the expression on her face. “Now what? I did it. I jumped off the cliff. I went all in. I took this trip with you, Emmett. And now we’re broke and jobless. I can’t crawl back to my parents like this. I willingly swallowed all of your “don’t worry about it’s,” but we are officially entering the gates of reality, and I need to know what’s next. And you need to respect my need to have a plan.”

I didn’t share her level of anxiety. In fact, I was a little taken aback by her sudden rush of panic.

My hands slid from her ass to her back to her neck, cupping it as I feathered my lips over hers. “Can we at least park the RV before we map out the rest of our lives?”

“No.” She closed her eyes and covered my hands with hers.

I chuckled. “Why not?”

Big brown eyes opened, and I felt something even bigger coming just from that one look. “Because I’m pregnant.”

Fear bled from every pore on her skin. My reaction involved something a little more unexpected.

I killed the engine. “Get in the back.”

Creases formed along her forehead. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” I said as I lifted her from my lap, pushing her toward the back as I unbuckled and maneuvered myself between the seats.

“Emmett—”

I grabbed her face and kissed her, walking her backward to the bed.