Reclaim (Release, #2)

by Aly Martinez

“I know. What is it you always say about choices? Everyone makes them? Well, this is my choice. And if comes down to choosing between you and freedom, I’ll choose you every single time.”

No, just let me talk. Hear me out.” He tucked a stray hair behind my ear and let his thumb linger at my cheek, sweeping back and forth. “I know you love me, Nora. It’s flashed in your eyes every time you’ve seen me since we were kids. It’s like every light in the house suddenly comes on, but it terrifies you, so you spend the whole time we’re together running around, turning them all off, convincing yourself that you don’t deserve for people to love you back. But we still do it. Joe loves you. Thea loves you. Ramsey loves you.”

“I’m clean,” I confessed. And because it was Nora, I didn’t even have it in me to be embarrassed when I admitted, “I haven’t been with anyone.”

I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. You looked so peaceful and happy, like a weirdo smiling in your sleep. I’ll take that memory with me instead of a long, drawn-out goodbye. I would have cried, and then you would have said all the right things, making it even harder for me to go. But know this: There aren’t enough words to adequately express the gift you gave me last night. The hope. The unconditional love. The understanding that, while now is not our time, there might a future where one day the two of us find ourselves on the banks of our creek again, this time with free minds, whole hearts, and a lifetime to share. Until then, wherever you go and whatever you do, I love you. Always, Nora P.S. Alberton cabbies are brutal. They quoted me fifty bucks over the phone to get back to my car at the church. P.P.S. My dress was still wet, so I stole your sweats. I don’t feel the slightest bit sorry. I’ll put them to good use. I promise. P.P.P.S. I may not go to fancy Columbia, but after several college English courses, I can definitively say this is the correct way to the do the P.S. thing. More P’s and less S’s. P.P.P.P.S. I’d rather be there with you.

Five years, five hundred years—it doesn’t matter. I want you, Nora. In my life. In my bed. At my side. Any and every way I can have you. I only want you. I don’t care if it’s messy or complicated. I don’t care if you are still working through the shit-hand life dealt you. I don’t care how it comes or what it looks like. I only want you.”

“You’re not going to catch pneumonia. We’ve never caught anything down by that creek.” She peered up at me, her golden-brown eyes sparkling with more love than I ever knew possible, and smirked. “I caught you, didn’t I?”