Runaway Bride and Prejudice (Appies, #5)

by Emma St. Clair

“Van,” Morgan says, turning to me, face serious even as her eyes still dance. “Or Robbie. Whatever your name is—you’ve heard that with great power comes great responsibility?” I chuckle. “I’ve seen Spiderman a time or two.” “The quote comes from Voltaire,” Amelia corrects, reminding me of our long-ago book debate. “Not Marvel.”

“You take angry naps?” I ask. “Oh, yeah. I also post-game nap, sleepy nap, sad nap—you name it, I’ll nap it.”

It’s as though our time together runs on a different plane, slow and languid like taffy, stretching minutes into years.

I realize that in his simple offer of whatever I want, Van just gave me more than Drew ever did.

“I don’t come close to being good enough for Amelia. But if she were mine? I would never let her go. I would spend every waking day and every single breath just hoping I could show her the love she deserves.”

No. No, I’m actually not sure I will be okay. And when it’s my turn and I step off the platform, hurtling toward the next station, I hardly feel the drop in my stomach. Because inside, I was already in free fall.

I’ve never been like this with anyone—embracing passion and playfulness like two sides of the same coin. It only works because the currency is trust.

I’m not sure anyone has ever allowed me that kind of freedom to just unapologetically … be.

“I don’t want an annulment or a dissolution or a divorce,” he says, and I have to crane my neck to stare into his inky dark eyes. “I want more than the one night I had with you. I want all your days too. I want to come home knowing you’ll be here. I want to look up from the ice and see you there, wearing my jersey, shouting my name.”

“I want to watch you find out what a life without following the rules looks like. Or, maybe—to find out which rules are worth following and which ones are worth breaking. On your terms. I want to be the one cheering for you and your dreams, wearing your jersey. Figuratively speaking.”