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“Come here,” I say.

It’s a quiet evening, and we’re on the sofa, as per usual, a blanket over us, the TV playing on low. Sophie is curled at my side, one arm loose over my waist. I think she’s half asleep, her breaths even and low.

Her curves are pressed to my side, her scent everywhere, a strand of her dark hair falling over her cheek.

I stroke it away, overcome by a wave of protectiveness so fierce it takes my breath away. This girl... she’s everything. She stayed by my side when I pushed her away with my reactions, my fears and traumas, and then again when I tried to give her a way out.

She’s here, and she kept my gifts. Kept them close to her, on her wall, in her boxes, on her skin. She remembers the things we did, the fights we had, and still she says she won’t let me go.

With the bad luck I’ve had dogging my steps all my fucking life, she seems like an inexplicable star in the middle of the night.

She won’t let go.

Day in and day out, she keeps taking care of me, and every time she’s near, this knot clogs my throat and I need to pull her to me, touch her, feel her, and she comes willingly, wrapping her arms around me, smiling at me like a light in the darkness.

Maybe... maybe she’s telling the truth, and she’s here to stay.

But what about me? Will I stay? Will I live?

The doctor is careful how he phrases everything he tells me, not wanting to give me unwarranted hope, and the fear of leaving her hounds my steps. A year ago I wouldn’t have cared all that much. Oh hell, sure, I’d still have been afraid, who wouldn’t be? Afraid of death.

But not like this. Not this damn bad.

Now that I’ve given in, allowed myself to feel, I need her more than I need oxygen. I stroke her silken cheek, her neck, and all I want is to hold her and kiss her and keep her forever.

“Griff...” Her lashes lift and she gives a long, sleepy blink.

I lift my hand to her chin, tilt it up, and kiss her.

She’s taken care of me for so long. If she’s staying... if I’m allowed to try and stay with her, keep her, keep myself here, then it’s time I started taking care of her, too, time to give all I can give.

Stop thinking about tomorrow, about what will happen when the blood results come in.

Show her now what she means to me, how much I want her and need her. Now, not later, not waiting and sitting in the dark.

I kiss her hard, startling her, making her gasp, and then I thrust my tongue between her lips, licking into her mouth. My hand slides to cradle her cheek, then the back of her head, holding her in place.

Her tongue tangles with mine, and she moans and shivers.

She melts against me, making little needy noises that shoot straight to my groin, and for the first time in what feels like years there’s that tightening coil of need in my gut. I can’t get it up yet, can’t get inside her, my dick not cooperating, but it feels damn good to press my body to hers, to drink in her moans and feel her pretty nipples harden through her thin sweater.

I have to break the kiss to get the sweater off her, and she’s panting, eyes dark with desire. The sweater is off with one tug, and I admire her round tits in their lace prisons, run my hand over one, feeling its softness, the tight nipple pushing against my fingers.

“Oh God...” she whispers.

Then I’m shoving the straps off her shoulders and nudging her back so I can lick and suck, my other hand playing with her other breast. Her back arches, and she pushes into my touch, my mouth. I tongue the hard tip of her nipple and she squirms and moans.

“Griff...” She has to stop to catch her breath. “We can’t, you can’t...?”

“But you can. And I’ll love feeling you come on my fingers.”

A flush spreads over her cheeks, making her brown eyes shine. “Griff—”

I lift my face to kiss her mouth, because it’s too much goddamn talking and my burst of energy will run out quickly. She kisses me, gripping my shoulders, shifting on the sofa, eyes closing.

Carpe diem, right? Live like there’s no tomorrow.

I want her.

And she wants me, she wants me, I remind myself, despite the past, my weird asshole ways, despite the many scars, the sentence of death hanging over my head.

It’s been a long time coming, this thing between her and me, this ending. I fought it, I fought her, but I’m giving in, and I don’t care what comes next.

Breaking the kiss to breathe, my stamina so low it’s damn scary, I shove my hand under the hem of her dress, find the lace of her panties, and slip my fingers under, smoothing over satiny skin to reach her slick pussy. Dipping inside, I rub her little, hard clit, making her writhe and moan.

Hell, I can’t... I want to feel her clench, lose it, shatter and make some noise. She’s so hot, and her pussy, when I dip my fingers inside, is like heaven. She’s so wet, so tight, so ready. I haven’t given her what she needs for so long, Christ, I haven’t...

Stop, I tell myself. Stop and give it to her now. That’s all that matters. She’s still here. Take this second chance.

I thrust my fingers inside her, stroking and seeking the spot that will make her wild, and she bucks, groaning, dazed eyes opening, staring at me.

Can’t stand how much I want her, how much I need her. Pressing my forehead to hers, I fuck her slowly, thoroughly, two fingers turning to three, stroking her deeper, harder, until she cries out and tightens, pulses, comes as I watch and listen, as I feel her come apart.

It touches me, breaks me, tears me apart. I grin and want to howl, beat my chest, carry her away.

Or curl up with her in my arms and go to sleep.

Guess that burst of energy has fizzled out. Gone are the days when I could run and work and fuck for hours.

But the grin stays on my face, and my chest feels oddly light.

Then she lets out a shaky breath that sounds too much like a sob, and makes me sit back and take stock.

“Soph? What is it? Tell me.”

She just shakes her head. I grip her chin and turn her face up to see her expression. Her eyes are wet with tears.

“Goddammit. What did I do? Did I hurt you?” The weight is back on my chest, hurting, digging in claws. I swallow past that damn knot in my throat. “You didn’t want it. I forced you? Jesus, Soph tell me—”

“No, God no, that’s not it!” She catches my hand, brings it to her cheek. I frown at her, trying to read her face, between the tear-stained cheeks and the faint smile that’s just forming.

“Then what?”

“You. It’s you.” She kisses my palm and I frown harder.

“What did I do?”

“You don’t say much. But I should have seen from the start what you were showing me. You show with acts, not words.”

I try to read through the lines. I’m not very good at that. “You liked it?”

She laughs, then, and thank fuck, that sounds like a yes. “Couldn’t you tell?”

I let out a breath. “You scared me there for a sec. I thought I’d misunderstood.”

“Do I look unhappy?”

Well... “You’re crying,” I feel obliged to point out, even as the scent of her on my fingers makes my gut twist with desire.

“I can cry when I’m happy.”

“How the hell am I supposed to tell the difference?” I take another deep breath, shaken and unwilling to admit it. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just... can’t tell what people mean sometimes. It’s so damn hard.”

And now I feel like a whining shit, which makes me angry.

But she takes my hand in both of hers. “That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Look, it’s not... not just the war, or my family. It’s who I am. How I am.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s not the war or your parents. You’ve always been so quiet, so distant, and I think... I think not all of us see the world the same way. You don’t read people the same way I do, you don’t react the same way I do. And that’s okay, as long as I know that.”

“But I want to see you, understand you.” Frustration makes me wanna hit my head against the wall. “I’ve been to the therapist. A few times. It’s not... easy. To talk. He says I have to open up. But I’m a closed-off kind of guy.”

“See, that is you: you try. Every day.” She nods to herself. “You want to get better. You suffer for things that are not your fault, and you never stop fighting. You don’t give up.”

“You paint me like a hero, when I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Griff. You’re doing the best you can, and let me tell you, you’re the best people. All those times we fought, you were trying to make me happy, keep me safe, do what was best for me. You’re great. You’re great to me.”

The pressure is back in my chest, a different kind of pressure, and it’s too fucking much. I can’t breathe. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I mean every single thing I’ve said,” she whispers and smiles.

***

We lie curled up on the sofa, and I think about that time when I told her I hated love, when I was set on crashing and burning whatever it was I felt for her, because it was too big and too much, and I knew I couldn’t be what she needed.

What I thought she needed.

“That night...” I start. “The night I walked out of the barbecue party, I was fucking scared.”

Shit, why am I telling her this?

But she looks up and nods, as if she gets it. “Are you scared now?” she asks, and my first knee-jerk reaction is to deny it.

So I swallow my initial reaction down, and nod.

“Afraid of me?”

“Afraid of accepting what an idiot I’ve been all this time.”

She laughs. It’s infectious, and I snort.

“And of not making it out alive. Not having time with you. All this time I’ve wasted.”

“Griff...”

But I’m on a roll, and I’d better get this out, this thorn, before I remember that I don’t share my fears with others, that they don’t understand. This girl is doing her best to get my twisted convoluted mind, to understand, and I have to help her.

“That night I saw your friends, the couple... and all the others, dancing and talking and smiling, and being so... normal, you know? I thought I can never do that with you, for you.” I tap the side of my head. “Too many dark hooks in my mind, too many constraints. Too many fucking loose screws, too. You needed a normal guy, someone to give you all this happiness I saw around me.”

“You make me happy,” she says quietly, and her smile brightens.

It gives me the courage to go on. “All my life, I learned to walk away from situations where I can’t get a grip on things, where things don’t make sense, or seem bad. When my parents kept telling me I’m a useless idiot for not bringing home the best grades, when my teachers said I should try harder and not be a lazy ass, when my army buddies said they didn’t get me, when Marvin decided I wasn’t easy to have as a friend. When you left.”

“Oh, Griff...” More tears. These can’t be happy, she isn’t smiling, but she doesn’t look sad, either. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t... don’t be. It’s not your fault. The therapist said I seem to have trouble communicating. Social skills. Expressing... feelings. But I...” I rub at my forehead. “I didn’t stay to ask what he meant. I was too angry at myself, at the world for taking you away again, and I never went back. I made so many fucking mistakes.”

“It’s not just you,” she whispers, and rubs circles on my palm. It tickles. “I made such a mess of things, when all I wanted was you. I wished for you every Christmas, did you know that? What can Santa bring you? Bring me Griffin, I’d say. Not that I believe in Santa. But I believed that one day you’d come to me.”

I shake my head. Never been anyone’s favorite person, anyone’s most important wish.

“Listen...” I don’t even know what I want to say, or ask. Can’t find the words to ask.

But she says, “I like you the way you are, Griff. You’re kind, and protective, and strong, and I wouldn’t change you for anyone else in the world.”

And I fall silent, because I can’t think of a single thing to say, except act, like she said. Act, react.

I haul her on my lap and bury my face in her neck, trying to find my balance. The world pitches and rocks around us, then settles.

She commands my world.

And me.