When I return, I curl up on the end of the bed, watching the fire play over the pale walls, and draw in the faint scent of lavender tingeing the air. I have no idea where it comes from, but it is sweet and clean and soothes me. Every part of this room is created for enjoyment. And all I can think is that I am here, and I am grateful. I love my life and the people in it.
Contentment has me feeling lazy. I revel in it, give myself permission to let go. It’s surprisingly easy to do with Rye.
Damn, but the man can put a smile on my face even when he’s sleeping less than two feet away. I allow myself that joy too, because I’m done worrying about what I’m supposed to be doing.
Behind me, Rye stirs, uttering an adorably confused grunt, and I know he’s awake and most likely rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
I continue to watch the fire and feel his gaze like a warm caress along my back.
“Good sleep?” I ask softly.
He grunts again, a sated beast lounging in his bed.
“Yeah,” he says, just as soft. He’s silent for a moment. “You okay?”
The sound of his quiet care has me smiling, but I don’t turn around. Not yet. A strange sort of peaceful lethargy keeps me in place. “Yes. Just thinking about my parents.”
He waits a beat before answering. “They don’t deserve you, baby.”
Baby. We rarely call each other by those types of names. But the way he says it, gentle and tender, makes me feel wrapped up in his protection. I like it. A lot.
Ducking my head, I pick at the cashmere duvet cover. “I’m okay. Better, actually.”
With a light sigh, I tilt my head back and blink up at the ceiling. “I was sitting here, feeling safe and content, and this realization stole over me. For my entire life, I worried about fitting in, felt like I was the outsider when it came to the wealth and success Killian, his parents, and you guys in the band all had.”
Rye doesn’t say a word, but I know he’s ready to reach out if I need it, and the words come easier.
“I’d hear my parents’ warnings, all the times they said I wasn’t good enough, that I didn’t fit in this world, and deep down, I believed it. But the truth is, my parents were the ones who didn’t fit. They were the outsiders, not because they weren’t good enough, but because they didn’t let themselves belong.
“I belong here for the simple reason the people in my life care about me, and this wealth and success is the result of hard work and talent. I fit in because this is the life I made for myself. For years, I ran from anything that threatened to leave me emotionally open. I denied myself true happiness, denied myself you. Back in that kitchen, I stopped running, and everything shifted. And…I don’t know…it just truly sank in.”
Pausing, I smooth my hand over my bare knee, that gentle sense of peace floating over me. “We are who we are, and who we are is pretty great as far as I’m concerned. No one can take that from me without my permission. Not even my parents.”
When I finish, Rye doesn’t say anything. But I know he’s heard and is processing. The bed creaks with his movement, then his voice, thick with sleep but also emotion, reaches over the small space between us.
“I love you.”
So simply said, like it’s always been true.
It soaks into my skin, fills my heart. Finally, I turn. He reclines on his side, head resting in his hand, looking back at me with that truth shining in his eyes. Strong, pure, gorgeous. Mine.
This man is mine. My friend. My lover. My home. My heart.
“I love you too.”
His smile is the dawn. And when he reaches out to tug me against his solid warmth, I go willingly, curling into him and threading my fingers in his messy hair.
The corners of his denim-blue eyes crinkle as he touches my cheek with the blunt tips of his fingers. “We just said we loved each other.”
“We did.”
The grin turns incandescent. “Say it again, so I can fully soak it up.”
“I love you.”
“God, that’s nice.” He kisses me, melting little presses of lips to lips. “One more time.”
“I love you, Ryland Peterson.”
“Mmm…Just gets better and better.” He rolls me back and settles between my legs, his big, firm body a blanket of warmth around me.
I stroke the short strands of his thick hair. “Let me see. Tell me again.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle, a look of utter happiness lighting his face. “I love you, Brenna James.”
“You’re right, it feels really good.”
Rye hums and kisses the crook of my neck. “I’ll tell you every day, then.”