Epilogue

EPILOGUE

Lara

Panting, we slow to a quick walk.

Another morning run done.

I smile. After last night, I wasn't sure I'd have the stamina, but Michael proved to be a good running partner, encouraging me when I struggled.

The new scenery has helped.

I take Michael's offered hand, letting him guide me to a tree that stands behind a few others, bending at the bottom of the trunk, sinking low enough for us to sit on it.

We take a seat, looking out at the huge lake.

"Thanks for joining me."

"Every morning, no matter the weather, I'll be right here," he swears, pointing at the spot next to me .

"Sitting on the log?" I ask, pretending to misunderstand.

"You're spending too much time with Kaleb," he mocks. "But now that you mention it, I prefer it when I'm here."

I squeal as he grabs me under my arms, hauling me onto his lap, laughing as he snuggles me close. His face nuzzles my sweaty neck.

Pride and gratefulness run through me.

"No one ever tells you how hard it is to fight yourself," I whisper, like our problems are still a dirty little secret, "especially when you're the only one doing it."

"You're not the only one doing it now, princess. I'll fight for you," he promises me. His brow furrows when I say nothing. "Don't you know by now? I'd kill anyone for you, even your demons."

I don't reply because what is there to say to that? My smile slips, and my lips twist as I try to stop my emotions from crumbling.

I stare at him for a few more minutes as he strokes my face. His eyes tell me everything I need to know . . . he means every word.

Has anyone ever cared for me this much? No. I don't even need to think about it. This man is a monster, a killer, yet no one has ever loved me the way he does.

Turning my face, I kiss the palm of his hand. The gentle stroke of his thumb against my cheek soothes me .

"I'm going to fix you, too. But I love you the way that you are, Michael Cromwell."

I peek at his face when he doesn't speak.

His eyes are hooded, fixed on where my mouth is still turned into his hand.

My finger runs down the front of his chest lightly, barely brushing the cotton of his shirt, but his body still quivers under my touch.

I kiss his palm again, a thank-you for letting me touch him. Together, we watch as my finger trails farther and farther down his chest. Michael moans, his mouth devouring mine before I even make it to his pants.

The past doesn't matter. How we got here doesn't matter.

He matters. I matter.

And together, we're going to heal ourselves.

THE END.