I pull up to the house I bought and see her SUV in the driveway. Leaving my shit in the vehicle, I slam the truck door and run up to the house, using my key to get in. The first thing I notice when I step inside is that it’s furnished. It’s still kind of bare, but there are all of the necessities. My eyes go to the photos on the wall behind the couch—of us and our families. They’re all candid, but the way they’re printed makes them look professional.
A phone ringing from somewhere in the house has me reluctantly tearing my eyes from the photos. I locate the phone on the end table and see Marco’s name on the caller ID.
“Hello.”
“Hey, you’re with her?” he asks, sounding concerned.
“I’m with her phone. I just got here, but it doesn’t look like anyone is here.”
“RJ is with us,” Marco says. “Micaela…” He clears his throat. “She wasn’t doing real well, so Bella convinced her to let us take him so she could have a little break.”
Damn it, I hate what she’s been going through, and more so, that I’m the one to put her through it. This is exactly what she feared would happen.
“Maybe she went for a walk,” he suggests.
“I’m going to check the rooms for her now and then I’ll go from there.”
We hang up and I go in search of Micaela. I find her in the master bedroom. My furniture from my parents’ place fills the once empty space. She’s lying on one side of the bed, cuddled into my blankets, and I immediately recognize my hoodie on her. Her face is scrunched up in what looks like pain, and I imagine she finally fell asleep thinking the worst.
I take a second to watch her sleep, then using her phone camera, snap a picture. She’s so fucking beautiful with her curly hair splayed out across my pillow. Her heart-shaped lips are puckered, and her brows are furrowed like she fell asleep against her own will.
Needing to touch her, I undress out of my OCPs, then change my boxers for a fresh pair. I should probably shower, but I can’t wait that long to have her in my arms.
Edging across the bed, I align our bodies so her back is to my front. I nuzzle my face into her hair, inhaling deeply and drawing in her scent, rememorizing her smell: vanilla. It’s a little different than before I left. She must’ve switched shampoos. I gently lift her head, pushing my arm under her and wrapping my other arm around her torso. I should probably wake her up, but she’s sleeping so peacefully and her dad said she’s been having a rough time. So instead, I snuggle into her back and close my eyes, finally feeling my heart calm for the first time in four months. My body and mind feel centered. Right here, with this woman, I finally feel at home.
Micaela
Taking a deep breath, I crack my eyes open, feeling refreshed. I’m not sure how long I slept for, but my eyes no longer feel like they weigh a hundred pounds and my body doesn’t feel as sore. My head is no longer fuzzy. I feel rested. I listen for RJ but quickly remember my mom took him—because I was exhausted. Because Ryan is missing. Now that I’ve had a break, I should go get RJ and bring him home. I feel around for my cell phone, but instead my hand comes across a hard… body?
The second it sinks in, I roll over and scoot back, almost falling off the side of the bed. Strong hands catch me, though, before I do, and it’s then I realize Ryan is in bed with me.
“Whoa, it’s just me,” he says, a soft smile on his face.
“If I’m dreaming this, I’m going to be seriously pissed,” I blurt out, bringing my hand to his face to make sure he’s real.
Ryan’s mouth turns down into a frown. “You’re not dreaming, baby.” He runs his finger down the center of my face, starting with my forehead and trailing his fingertip along the center of my nose and down to my lips, tracing the outline of my mouth. “I’m here.”
His words are like electricity to my body and mind, and it all clicks at once: he’s here, alive, safe. With me. And without thought, I’m climbing on top of him and then peppering kisses all over his face. His forehead, his temples, his nose, both cheeks.
He chuckles as my hands roam across his bare shoulders and down his chiseled chest, making sure he’s really okay. If possible he’s even more muscular and toned than he was four months ago.
“I’m here,” he repeats.
“I need to make sure you’re okay,” I explain through a relieved sob.
Our mouths connect in a passionate kiss that sends a bolt of electricity to my heart, reviving it after days of it barely beating. Fat tears roll down my cheeks and Ryan breaks the kiss to lick each one. “Shh, it’s okay,” he coos, gripping my hips and shifting us so he’s sitting up against the headboard and I’m straddling his lap. “Don’t cry, please.”