Dane
“I know the way we met was a little unorthodox,” Dane said, as he bent his knee in front of Emily. “And I'm sorry for turning your world upside down. But, people like us, we need each other. We're too different and too strong for anyone else to handle us. We'd just chew them up and spit them out.”
Emily stared down at her hand as Dane took hold of it. She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. “What are you . . .?”
“Let me finish,” Dane said, filling in where she trailed off. “I'm nervous here, and I'll lose track.”
She laughed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “Okay, finish.”
“People like us, Em, we need other people like us. We need them because we're like tornadoes with other people, walking disasters. You're the only woman that's ever meant anything to me, the only woman I've ever met who could be stronger than me and put me in my place. I love you, Emily. I have since our first screwed up week together, and I will until the day I die. I guess I'm just trying to say . . . will you marry me, Emily West? Will you become Mrs. Emily Bishop, and make me the happiest man alive?”
She smiled and nodded, the tears coming down her cheeks like rain on a spring day. “Yes, Dane. I'd love to.”
Dane stood up from his bended knee and swept her into his arms, just like he had the day he'd gotten out. Her arms around his neck, they kissed, their smiles barely contained as he spun her around and around.
Later, Benton and Dane divvied up the steaks and seasoned them before slapping them on the platter. The coals were hot and ready on the grill outside and they didn't have time to waste. Laughing and talking about their plans for the company, they both headed outside with them.
On the way, Emily came in and distracted Dane, baby in arms. “She wants to see Daddy,” Emily explained to Benton, and he just rolled his eyes and headed towards the backyard.
“I'll get 'em started. You guys worry about Aunt's Charlene's favorite niece.”
Dane laughed as he pulled the mother of his children into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Their daughter, Paula, had gotten the blonde hair from Emily's side of the family, along with her smile. He knew she'd gotten his strength, though, from the way he grabbed his finger and tugged at it.
“She's so feisty,” Emily said, smiling so widely that it didn't seem like her face could contain all her joy.
“Just like her mother,” Dane said, squeezing Emily tighter.
“I was thinking more like her father,” Emily said.
“Dad!” Dane Jr. called from the back door. “Uncle Benton says you need to grab some more seasoning from the kitchen.”
Dane laughed, his heart full to bursting with the love that it could barely contain. This house was so full of life and happiness. His brother was rebuilding his life, while still being mindful of what he'd left behind. This, right here, was what dreams were made of.
“Well, of course they are,” his wife said, smiling up at him as she agreed with his thoughts.
“Of course, they are?” Dane asked, squeezing her tightly. “What do you mean?”
“Dreams, silly. They're made up. Like this.”
Dane awoke with a gasp on the couch, his eyes wide and staring at the dark, blank ceiling. The fan circled in a low, lazy motion, barely casting a breeze on the cold sweat that dampened his chest. He centered himself and remembered where he was.
He was in Benton's tiny apartment. He'd been exhausted and crashed for the evening, and he could see the dim light coming from beneath the door of his brother's room. He got up from the couch and padded into the living room, grabbing a glass of cool water from the tap and drinking it down to try and clear his head.
It didn't work, so he drew another and put the glass to his head, savoring the feel of the cold surface against his skin. He groaned, knowing it had all just been wishful thinking. Eventually, he knew, even those wishes would go away.
Wouldn't they?
# # #
Emily
Emily stared blankly at Ian as he blathered on about the car he and his buddies had been working on. It was an older one, a 60s mustang that his friend had been restoring for as long as she could remember.
She wasn't sure what he was talking about now. Maybe the paint job? Or trying to find the right tires for it? God, they were only on the soup course. How much longer till their entrees came out and they could get out of here?
“So, yeah, we managed to track down an almost mint condition steering wheel . . .”
Nope. That was it. Emily stifled a yawn.
It wasn't that she didn't like cars. She loved them. Just, she wanted to be included in it if she was going to have to hear about it all night, no matter what it was.
Her mind drifted away from Ian, though, quickly finding a gentle, sloping path back to Dane. She hadn't been able to get him out of her thoughts, especially not after his goodbye. She didn't think Ian had come close to making her feel so much pleasure in bed. Sure, he got her off. She would have had to teach him how to if he couldn't.
But it still wasn't the same. Even with how gentle Dane had been, for a change, he'd still been more domineering and forceful than Ian. And, God, those muscles of his. He must have been doing nothing but working out for the last year.
Things would have been so different with Dane over the last year if he hadn't gone to prison. Emily sighed internally, while smiling for Ian to continue with his pointless story about himself.
Dane would have been by her side this whole last year. He would have supported her as she crawled back to the top, as she got her next position and kept moving with her career. Instead of Ian, it would have been him sitting across from her at dinner, those piercing brown eyes of his making her a quivering mess as she waited for them to get home. Or maybe just to the car . . .
They would've been talking about the garden right now. Or places they'd been and seen. Not his buddy's old mustang.
A flash of inspiration entered her mind, a perfectly clear image of herself as she slipped the engagement ring from her finger and slid it across the table cloth to Ian. She could do it right now. Sure, the wedding planning would all have been a waste, and her fiancé would be crushed.
But . . . what did Emily want?
She touched her engagement ring, the pads of her fingers just barely brushing over it. She sighed internally again as she grabbed her glass of wine and took a sip.
“You okay?” Ian asked after a minute.
“What?” Emily asked.
“You just seemed distant, Emily. Everything all right?”
She smiled. “Just tired, that's all.”
She left the ring where it was on her finger.