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“I would always rather be happy than dignified.” —Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre
This morning, I’d woken up with the impression that I hated the Followhills. But after this afternoon, there was no denying it—there was at least one Followhill I wanted to get very friendly with.
Dean Cole had his elbows on his desk, leaning forward, drinking her words like they were oxygen. And Vicious? He looked at her like she was his.
So lost. So confused. So fucking mine. Owning someone has never felt this good. His words hit me hard. Was I really his? It didn’t feel like it. Like it was real. Maybe for him, it was. But for me? I was too scared of the consequences of truly having him to even consider it an option. Lost. Confused. I felt all those things. Not just in that moment, but in general. Where was I going after this?
Millie, huh? Maybe the bastard did have a beating heart after all.
Vicious was the evil one, and Dean was the stoner one, and Trent was the lost, beautiful soul searching for its mate, Jaime was the cement that glued them together.
the way my heart squeezed every time I noticed him for the first time in class felt a little too hard.
“I think I like you,”
“I think I like you back.”
Magic.
He was driving me crazy…but I was driving him wild.
Are we breaking the rules?
“You feel pretty manly to me,”
“And you feel like a woman worthy of a fight, Ms. Greene.”
Six heavenly weeks ticked by before Jaime claimed not only my body, but my heart.
“Tell me what you feel.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel it, too.”
Dancing was my life. But Jaime? Jaime is my life, I realized.
Your pain is mine, and I want to shoulder it, because I can. Because that’s what I do. I carry my pain all the time. Let me take away yours, my touch begged him.
“You were the perfect sin to commit, Melody. Begging to be taken.
Another swig. Another deep breathe. Another thorn in my heart.
“Somewhere between the quest of wanting to fuck you and secretly rebelling against my mom, I fell in love with you. It wasn’t a beautiful process. Hell…”
“It wasn’t even romantic. But it happened. Because you’re strong but vulnerable. Witty as fuck but not bitter or deliberately mean. Because I had to chase your ass to nail you down, and you still keep me on my toes. But if we’re going to keep going on like this, where I have to convince you to give me the time of the day while you look over your shoulder, constantly trying to shake me off, I need to bail out of this before I get hurt.”
“So…are you mine, Melody?”
“No one else’s.”
And they told me it wasn’t about the alcohol, or the late hour, or the inconvenient talks about the future. It was about us. It was us.
Too dead for a living human.
I’m a no one.” “Not true. You’re my someone.”
Jaime was my anchor now. I had no one to trust but him.
Shame over who I fell in love with.
I hated him. I hated me. We deserved this heartache.
They were salty and sad and desperate. They all tasted weird. They all tasted like him.
My love was madness. And I was ready to fight for it.
“Truth or dare?” “Truth.”
“The truth is…I love you.”
“I love you, too, Mel. Fucking crazy about you, actually.
All I think about is him. How it worked out so fabulously. It’s our beautiful chaos, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
I open the velvet box and inside rests a necklace. With a charm. A golden anchor. This anchor symbolizing so many things. The burnt yacht that ripped us apart. The necklace that brought us back together. The missing piece I left behind. My eyes glide up, piercing him with uncontained love. I’m so in love. So completely out-of-my-mind crazy about this boy who grew up to be a man and has given up so many things to be with me.
“Is it true that you’ll always be mine?”
“It’s a truth. And sometimes, when you piss me off, it’s a dare. But it’s my life, and you’re a part of it. Always and forever,” I say. “Always and forever,” he repeats,
The angst. The fear. The part where I let myself go and fall in love with who should’ve been the wrong person but who turned out to be right, so right…it’s all behind us now. In the end, it was worth it. Every small piece of who made us who we are today. Stronger. Happier. Wholer.
“Because sometimes, it’s nice to feel like there’s someone who can save you.”
I’m amazed. Amazed that this woman is mine. After all we’ve been through—and maybe precisely because of that.
She is funny and strong. So fucking talented, sarcastic and smart. But at the same time, she is real. And vulnerable. And mine. God, damn, so fucking mine.
Fifteen hours later, Melody and I welcome our first daughter, Daria Sophia Followhill.
And I’m happy, because I don’t need money. I have my girls, and that’s enough. It. Is. Everything.
