“Now I’m twenty-eight,” I say strongly, “and I’m doing what I should’ve done on day one.” “What’s that?” She blinks hard, fighting a heavy sleep. I dip my head and whisper against her ear, “Let myself love you.” Jane grips my hair, as though to say, stay. Her breath comes out in a sharp wave, swelling my chest, and I slip under the covers, my legs hanging off the bed. I tuck her trembling body against my chest. She burrows into me for warmth and security. Moments pass, her eyes closed, and right before she drifts off, she murmurs, “Thatcher?” “Yeah?” She seems to hold tighter. I cup her cheek.
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