I’m alone.
Of course, I am.
It didn’t feel right to sleep next to Regan, despite how much I wanted to—how desperate I was to hold her all night, to stay on that couch even if it broke my already worn back from years of riding.
Still, I held her in her bed until long after the movie credits finished downstairs, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest against mine, the way her soft curves molded against my harder angles like she was made to fit there. I brushed my fingers through her hair, breathed her in, and wondered if this—whatever this was—was us turning a corner, or just her needing a release for a single night.
God, I hope it’s not just that.
Because I’m in love with her.
And it’s not just because of these past two weeks. It’s not just since she lost her memories.
I’ve been in love with Regan since the moment I met her.
It’s in the quiet moments we’ve shared, the conversations over dinner, the way she looks at me sometimes like I hung the damn moon when I know I don’t deserve it. And the way I look at her. Her sacrifices, her vulnerability, her hopes and dreams, knowing she’s my wife, knowing I somehow got lucky enough to have her, and knowing I’d be the stupidest man alive to let that go.
Not in ten months. Not in one hundred months. She’s it for me.
And maybe in the past, I told myself some bullshit about how I needed to let her go, how I didn’t want to ruin things for her because I was incapable of being a good husband and a possible father. That I already caused her to end up in the hospital once so I should cut my losses. But I don’t feel that way anymore.
I’m not going to let her go. I can be all those things and more for her because she makes it easy and though I won’t push her, I’ll be there when she’s ready to have me.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair before tugging on a pair of cotton shorts. No shirt this morning. I like the way she looks at my chest, and besides, it’s already shaping up to be a hot-as-hell late May day.
Downstairs, I start on breakfast for us. No shift at the hospital tonight, but I’ll need to swing by at some point to check on my patients. I wonder what Regan has planned for the day as I move around the kitchen, cracking eggs the way I know she likes them,toasting bread, cutting up fresh fruit, brewing coffee. Scarlett sends me her daily check-in text and for the first time in weeks I get to tell my sister that things are good. Really good. By the time I’m finished, I hear her behind me.
And when I turn around—fuck—I wasn’t ready.
Her dark auburn hair is piled into a lazy bun on top of her head, stray strands slipping free around her face. Those bright blue eyes of hers are clearer today, lighter, and she’s wearing nothing but one of my long t-shirts. One that I know she had to go in my room to snag which means she was looking for me when she woke up this morning.
Was she disappointed that I wasn’t in bed with her?
Is she naked under that?
I know without a doubt this time that she is. And now it’s all I can think about.
“I made breakfast,” I say, gesturing to the counter, trying, and failing at not staring at her bare legs.
She tilts her head, giving me a small, sleepy smile. “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
I pull out a chair for her as she slides in, the hem of her shirt riding up just enough to confirm what I already suspected. She isn’t wearing any shorts.
“I know,” I say, my voice rough with need to touch her. My hands twitch against the back of the chair. She’s intoxicating. It’s unreal how much being close to her changes me. “I’m not doing it because I have to, I’m doing it because I want to.”
She watches me for a beat, as if trying to absorb that, before reaching for a piece of bacon. “Well, thank you. This has been nice.”
I give her a nod and round the counter, leaning against it, sipping my coffee as I study her. Little nose. Big, round blue eyes. She’s a fucking vision, no matter the time of day, but there’s something in her expression right now, something distant and thoughtful this morning.
“Is the food tasting okay?” I ask.
She nods, swallows and takes a sip of coffee. “It’s perfect.”
I smile, but she’s still somewhere else, lost in her thoughts. I just hope she isn’t regretting what we did last night.
“What do you have planned for today?” I ask, giving her space to answer.
“I need to stop by the egg farm,” she says, picking at her toast. “Colt and Cash need help with the chicks. They’re laying like crazy, so I need to do some sorting and labeling now that Lawson’s worked on a rebrand that he’s going to start pushing at the end of the summer.”
