Echoes of Us

by Aaron McLean

And that’s what I want for you. I want you to believe in the kind of love that stops time. The kind that crashes into you when you least expect it, leaving you breathless, shaken, and undeniably his or hers. That’s fate, sweetheart. And when it finds you? Let it consume you. Let it ruin you. Let it own you.

Let it make you scream in frustration, clench your thighs, bite your lip, and maybe—just maybe—believe in love a little more. And if you end up breathless, wrecked, or needing a cold shower? Good. That means I did my job.

Because love—the real kind—doesn’t follow the rules. It doesn’t fit inside a timeline. It doesn’t care about logic or reason or whether you’re ready for it. Love happens to you. And once it’s there? It never really leaves. I learned that the hard way.

She knew this wasn’t just a rekindled spark. It was a wildfire. And she was already burning.

“You deserve more than rushed kisses on a dock and a night that feels too good to be real in the morning.”

"Sweet dreams, Montgomery." Chase’s smirk turned downright sinful. "Oh, they will be," he murmured. "And they’ll all be about you."

This was love. The kind of love that wrecks you in the best way. The kind of love that makes you believe in things you swore you never would. The kind of love that echoes when they aren’t around. The kind of love that stays.

"Babe, love isn't safe. It’s messy, and terrifying, and it asks you to take risks. But it's also the best thing you'll ever have."

"Home isn’t a place, Savannah. It’s in the way you laugh, the way you dream, the way you love. It’s every moment we’ve ever had and every one still waiting for us."

Apparently, there is a thing called "smut.” I had no idea what the hell that was when I asked. Turns out, it’s word porn.