I never expected to find my forever so soon, but here Jerimiah is, telling me in no uncertain terms that we’re going to face the future together—and I’m telling him yes.
With a low sound of regret, Jerimiah breaks the kiss, pressing his lips softly to my forehead before lifting me back into the stands.
“Have you eaten?” he asks, his brow creasing with concern.
My expression is pure guilt.
Jerimiah shakes his head. “Help me take care of the girl I’m in love with.”
My heart is so heavy, I’m surprised it doesn’t tumble right out of me. “Okay, I will. Promise.” My laughter is watery. “I love you back. I don’t care if it’s crazy.”
With joy, disbelief…and a growing confidence, Jerimiah turns back toward the field and impossibly, he walks even taller than before. He picks up his helmet and swings it back onto his head upon reaching the sidelines and the command that rips out of him drops a hush over the crowd. His teammates stop what they’re doing and listen—and Jerimiah leads them to a win while I munch on a hot dog.
He helped me find my independence.
I helped him find his voice.
And the years to come are brighter than the stadium lights.
Epilogue
Birdie
Play it cool, Birdie.
Stop checking out your boyfriend every nine seconds.
Trying to be a casual ogler, I recline the passenger seat of Jerimiah’s truck and turn toward him sideways, stacking my hands beneath my cheek. I sigh, as if groggy from sleep, then crack an eyelid. Oh, and then there’s a long, drawn out, blissful sigh—silent, because I’m playing it super cool—over the picture he makes driving, the world whizzing past his stoic profile. I’ve never seen him drive before. We’ve been dating for two weeks and since we both live on campus, we walk everywhere.
To my dorm room, where he kisses me at the door, before saying good night.
To his frat house, where I kiss him at the door, before saying good night.
Bottom line: We’re really sick of saying good night.
There are rules—and roommates—that make it impossible for me and Jerimiah to spend the night in the same bed. Turns out, two weeks was our limit on that bullshit. This morning, I woke up and found him standing outside my door, car keys in hand. He swept me with that impatient, I need forever to start now look, and said, “Let’s go meet your brother and Naomi. I need permission to ask you to live with me off-campus.”
“What?” I’d shrieked like a dumbass. Then, “Okay, let me pack.”
So here we are. I’m mooning over my boyfriend across the truck’s console and no one could blame me. He’s like a big, beefy warrior with mighty fists and forearms…and male anatomy to match. My God. I was Jerimiah’s first lover and he’s already hit expert level. He knows how to use that thing now, so yeah, I’m mooning. I’m mush. I’m in love.
I love him so much, it’s scary.
It blows my mind how long this incredible human was hiding in plain sight. Yes, we are insanely compatible in the physical love department, but this connection we have reaches far past that. We care for each other, we encourage each other. I’ve told him things that I never thought I’d tell another living soul. My deepest fears about my diabetes, regrets I’ve been harboring about my sister, tentative hopes for the future. It’s like the moment we met, my heart carved out a nook for Jerimiah and he fit himself inside of it and my thoughts were transferred to him. He knows me. He knows me so well in such a short time, and while people will call us crazy for moving in together after two weeks, they can’t know how absolutely vital and natural it is for us to be in the same place at the same time.
We need each other in every sense of the word.
Like I know if I asked him to pull the truck over—right here and now—just so I could sit on his lap in the silence for a while, he wouldn’t even question it. He would provide that perfect, sweet solace for me, knowing I’m here to give it to him in return. I definitely don’t need solace right now, though. I’m freakishly content. That should scare me, right? It doesn’t. I’m feel more like myself than I ever have in my life.
“I texted Naomi to tell her we’re coming,” I say. “She’d never forgive me if I didn’t give her time to perfect a signature drink for our visit.”
Jerimiah’s lips twitch. “Did she tell your brother we’re coming?”
“No.” I smile against my folded hands. “But I asked her to make sure Jason is holding the baby when we arrive. He’ll look a lot less terrifying with my nephew in a sling around his chest.”
Briefly, he glances over at me. “Do you think I’m terrified?”