Spencer heard the rusty hinges of the mansion's kitchen door creak, and he stood to meet her. He knew it would be Brooke, and he knew why she'd stayed away last night. Because he'd fucked up. Proven himself to be the man she'd always feared him to be. A man whose life was in his hands, not his head.

"So there you go," he said, as she stepped into the room, her face pale and drawn. "That's me. That's the kind of man I am. And I know you can't handle—"

"Shut up, Spencer."

He did, mostly because her words shocked him into silence.

She moved slowly toward him, then took his hands. And as his heart flipped over, she gently bent and kissed his bruised knuckles. "For a guy who's made so much of himself, you can be pretty damn stupid. You know that, right?"

"Made—"

"You think you're not a success because you work with your hands and don't know how to do double-digit accounting? That's bullshit. You're capable and honest and loyal and you would lay down your life for someone you loved." She blinked, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

He held his breath, not sure what she was saying to him. Wanting to believe, but scared to take the leap.

He drew a breath, then decided to cut to the chase. "You didn't tell me about Brian because you were afraid I'd do what I did last night."

"Exactly."

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is who I am. And if—"

"Christ, do I have to hit you over the head with a brick? How many times do I have to tell you before it penetrates your thick skull? I don't give a fuck that you beat the shit out of that ass wipe. Do you think I don't understand how much it hurt you to hear what he did to me? To know that there was nothing you could do to erase that? Don't you know that I would have happily smashed his face in all by myself?"

"But—"

"But nothing." She drew in a breath, apparently gathering control. Or possibly considering kicking him in the shins.

"Come on, Spencer. I wanted to stand up and cheer when you punched him. I don't think less of you for protecting me—if anything, you get mega-brownie points in my book. But I swear to God, if you screwed things up for us by getting nailed with an assault charge—"

"Us?" The word had lassoed his heart, and he was having a hard time breathing.

She squared her shoulders and looked so put out with him that it was all he could do not to pull her close and kiss the expression right off her face.

"We had a fight," she said. "We'll probably have more. Do you really think that was the end of us? Because screw that. I'm not letting go that easily, Spencer Dean. Even if you do have the thickest skull on the planet."

She moved in front of him, then poked him in the chest with her forefinger. Hard. "You. This man. This guy right in front of me. He's who I want. Who I've always wanted. And you're not getting away from me without a fight."

"Angel," he said, barely able to get the endearment past his clogged throat. He reached for her, and then she was in his arms, and he knew that no man in the world had ever been luckier. "I love you," he said.

"I love you, too," she said, her tone a little exasperated. Then she shifted in his embrace so she could see his face. "Oh, and by the way. We're trending on social media."

He laughed. A full-on, hearty laugh. And damned but it felt good.

At least until he remembered.

"I left a crime scene," he said. "I need to go turn myself in." He raked his fingers through his hair.

"That's what I mean," she said. "You're an honorable man." She pulled out of his embrace and took her phone out of her pocket. "I'll go with you. But let me talk to Easton or Brent first."

"Why—" he began, but then his own phone rang. He pulled it out, his chest tightening when he saw the number. And as Brooke moved away to have her own conversation, he answered the call from Richie's attorney.

When he hung up, he felt numb. As if his limbs had entirely disappeared. He sank to the ground and stared at his phone. Just stared at it until Brooke knelt in front of him, asking him what the hell was wrong.

"It's Richie," he said, then felt his face break into a smile as reality settled over him. "He's been paroled."

Her hand went to her mouth, and tears streamed down her eyes as she threw her arms around him and hugged him. He held her tight, not wanting to let go. Not ever wanting to let go. But after what seemed like an eternity, she squirmed free, then sat on her heels, grinning at him.

"Let me add a cherry on top this already awesome day. You're clear."

He blinked, confused. "Come again?"

"Brent and Easton have been working with the cops and the DA and Amy's attorney all last night and this morning. I'm going to swear an affidavit, and Brian's going to plead guilty to two counts of aggravated assault. And you, my hero, get to walk."

"So that's it? I don't have to go down to the station?"

"Easton says that Amy might ask you—and me—to be a witness in their civil case. But they think Brian will settle that anyway. So no. Nothing you have to do now." She grinned. "I'd say it's turning out to be a pretty good day."

"The best," he said, pulling her against him and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You know, once I wanted this house because it would be proof that I was worth more than where I came from."

"And now?"

"Now I want it because it's where I'm most at peace with you."

He felt her tremble in his arms. Then she tilted her face back, looking at him with eyes so full of love they humbled him. "Spencer," she said, "make love to me."

It was a demand he wasn't about to refuse, and he pulled her close, then kissed her gently, letting their passion build as they helped each other out of their clothes, spreading them out of the floor to make a pad in the middle of the house that would soon be their home.

“Now,” she said, tugging him down so that he was balanced on top of her, looking deep into eyes so full of love it filled his soul.

He took her tenderly, claiming her body under a battered roof with the wide blue sky above them, a shaft of sunlight cutting through the dust and making her skin glow.

And when she arched up, crying his name so that it echoed against those crumbling walls, Spencer knew that no man had ever been luckier.

Later, as he drifted off with Brooke in his arms and the old Drysdale place rising up around them, Spencer felt something shift inside him. A need settling. A monster sleeping.

He'd done it, finally. Spencer Dean was home and safe, wrapped in the embrace of the woman he loved. A woman who loved him right back.