Revive Me: Part Three (New Haven #2)

by J.L. Seegars

the rain will always come, but it’s what you do in the midst of the storm that matters.”

“I love you, Mallory, and I’ve never had a choice in the matter. But, even if I did, I would never choose differently. Even if I lived a thousand lives, my soul would seek yours out. No matter what form I take, what name I'm called by, or what part of the universe I'm designated to, it'd still belong to you. I'd still belong to you. I’d find you in the depths of the ocean, in the darkest part of the night—”

“No, you don’t get to have me. You don’t get to say you’d find me in the darkest part of the night like we don’t both know that you’re the one who keeps leaving me there!” She’s vibrating with energy, her features a kaleidoscope of volatile emotion. “You buried me. With your secrets and your hope and your promises that you can never seem to keep and then you come back here after four years of silence and expect me to be thankful that you remembered how to find my grave?”

There aren’t many things I’m sure of in this world, but I am sure that I was made to love Mallory Kent, to guard her secrets and her truths, to kiss her scars, and ensure that nothing, not even me, causes her pain again.

“Every time you walked away from one of them, you took a step closer to me, Mallory. And when you’re done running, when you finally come home, when you believe me when I say I’m sorry, and you trust that I’m not going anywhere without you ever again, you’ll agree that every man who’s touched you has only served as a reminder that you were made for me.”

“No, princess, I won’t give up because even though I know I can live without you, I don’t fucking want to.”

My Mallory.

I love you. I was wrong about so many things. I have so many regrets in this life, but you’re not one of them. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you.

They love you, Mallory, not what you do for them, which means if you stop doing for them and live your life, that love will still be there.

I just wanted you to have things here so you never felt the need to pack a bag to come home.”

When my back is washed, I expect him to drop the act, to quit pretending like he cares about getting me clean when we both know he wants to make me dirty again, but to my absolute shock, he drops down to his knees and begins washing my legs and feet. It’s a worshipful act full of reverence and love that makes my chest tight, a fresh surge of happiness riddled with panic washing over me while Chris continues his work,

I am dead, and only her love can revive me.

“You keep wanting certainty, baby,” Mama continues. “But certainty is a desire of the brain, not the heart. The only certainty we get in this life is death and the grief that comes with it. Everything else is ours to make, to hold in our hands and shape with our palms. To nurture or let die.”