“Oh, yes.” I nod. “I was small so I could fit in the fucking chicken coop—let’s just say they ran me out of there so fast I nearly lost my pants. One bit my ankle and let me tell you that hurt like crazy. After that, I haven’t been able to stand the sight of chickens.”
Nova laughs and leans her head on my shoulder. “God, I love you.”
I don’t say the words back, she already knows I love her more than my next breath.
She’s everything.
We arrive in Texas and it’s fucking hot—well, hot compared to the cold we’ve been having. It has to be in the fifties, where back home it was in the twenties.
We get a rental car and Nova drives around, showing me different places that are a part of her childhood.
Her high school, the park she and her friends used to hang out in, a gym where she did gymnastics for a year before giving up, and even the hospital where she had Greyson.
Each piece gives me further insight into who Nova is. It’s like I had the whole puzzle done and now I’m finally getting the border—the foundation.
Once the mini-tour is done we head to our hotel and check in.
Nova wants to wait until tomorrow to see her parents, since our flight out is tomorrow evening. I understand, I wouldn’t want to confront my bastard parents today and have to wait a whole fucking day to get home. This way, if they’re assholes it’s not like we’re going to be here long.
And let’s face it, they’re going to be fucking assholes because they don’t know any other way to be.
I drop our bags on the floor and Nova collapses on the bed.
The room is nice—I made sure to book something that wasn’t a shit-hole—almost cozy. There’s a refrigerator, a couch, a king bed, and the bathroom and closet off to the side.
“Why did you let me do this?” Nova asks, staring up at the ceiling.
I chuckle and crawl up the bed overtop of her. I stop when I reach her face, my arms braced on either side of her head.
“Because, you need closure. Otherwise, you’d be asking yourself what if. It’s better to get it over with and not have questions later.”
“Are you sure you weren’t a psychology major?”
“I write songs, Little Star. It’s basically the same thing.”
She smiles up at me—and that smile … Fuck, it does things to me I can’t put into words or even lyrics.
I roll over and lie beside her, both of us staring at the ceiling.
“Jace?” she asks softly.
“Yes?” I press when she doesn’t elaborate.
“When you were little, what did you imagine your life would be like?”
I press my lips together. “Honestly? I wanted to be a fucking rock star. What about you?”
“I don’t know. When I was little I was too scared to dream.”
She might as well have kicked me in the chest with as bad as her words hurt me. All I can picture is the love of my life as a small child, too frightened to hope, to dream, of a life worth living. It breaks my fucking heart.
“What about now?” she asks. “Do you still want to be a rock star?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “That dream died a long time ago. I don’t want the limelight.” I swallow thickly. “If you could have dreamed of something, what would it have been?”
She rolls over and gives me a small smile. “This—finding someone I love more than anything else, and having my love returned tenfold.”
I can’t help it, I have to kiss her. I have to feel her body mold into mine like my body was made to shelter hers.