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And his flat, stoic expression did nothing to hide the dangerous streak. I suddenly felt an urge to climb him like a tree.
I licked my lips, envisioning an invisible hand pressing on my heart to slow that fucker down.
Madoc let out a bitter laugh. “Take off your pants.” I popped my head up. “Why?” “Because I want to see what a man with a pussy looks like.”
Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” I whispered, holding the book close to me. “I exist as I am, that is enough.”
“Challenge accepted, Tatum. This time I don’t want you hurt,” he continued, his breath falling over me as he got in my face, “and I don’t want you small. I just want you. Do you hear me?” He jerked me into his body. “It will be my ring on your finger and my kids in your belly someday.”
“A man who stands in front of a woman does nothing more than block her view. She needs a man standing next to her, so grow up.”
“I’m never letting you go again, Tate,” I whispered, almost desperate. “I’m your friend forever, and if that’s all I get, then that’s what I’m taking, because only when you’re here”—I took her hand and placed it on my heart—“do I feel like my life is worth a damn.”
“What if he forgets my mom?” “How could he?” I retorted. “He has you.”
You tell the guy you’re dating that your boyfriend’s back.
I put my arm around her shoulder, walking up her walkway. “Take the week,” I told her. “Go to your job. Read your books. Take a great big swim in Lake You,” I teased, walking up her porch stairs. “And if, at the end of the week, you’re ready to give me this,” I turned her around and placed my hand on her heart, “then I’ll take this.” And I slid my hand between her legs, holding her pussy.
I exist as I am, that is enough. Right there, my quote inscribed over his heart. Happy tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. He’d remembered the poem.
“I feel like my heart is breaking, and I don’t know why. What the hell?” “It’s love,” I heard my mother say. “Your heart isn’t breaking. It’s growing.”
Four cello players sat above us on a rock landing, playing Apocalyptica’s rendition of “Nothing Else Matters,” and everything hurt as I looked around. In a good way, I guess. I just wanted to see her so badly.
“As my friend, I liked you,” I whispered. “As my enemy, I craved you. As a fighter, I loved you, and as my wife”—I slid the ring the rest of the way on—“I keep you.” I squeezed her hand. “Forever,” I promised.
And when I leaned in to tell him why I needed him safe, why no obstacle could keep me from being happy right now, I felt his breath give way and his chest cave.
