Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Because my soul knew it wasn’t over.
Nothing about us has ever been simple. Hell, it’s never even been easy. But it’s been real.
I make coffee, bacon, and toast. The smell wakes her before the light does. She blinks, rubbing her eyes, a little crease forming between her brows. That same crease I’ve kissed a hundred times.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice still raspy from sleep.
“Morning, Tiny.”
She smiles at the nickname, soft and shy, the way she did the first week she stayed clean.
I hand her the mug. She wraps her hands around it, inhaling. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Her eyes flicker, worried. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie automatically, then shake my head taking a pause. “No. Not really. But that’s okay. You don’t fix truth by hiding from it.”
She nods slowly, quiet.
“Eat something,” I tell her, brushing a hand through her hair. “We’re takin’ a ride.”
We head over the bridge.
The sky’s painted pink and gold, the air cool enough to sting a little. She rides behind me, arms snug around my waist. Every mile we put between us and town feels like shedding skin.
By the time the water appears, the world’s turned into color again.
The beach is almost empty — just the waves rolling in, steady and old, the horizon stretching wide enough to hold every secret we’ve ever carried.
She slides off the bike, helmet tucked under her arm. “Why this today? Why here?”
“Because this is where I remember who I am,” I say simply.
She looks out toward the water. “I’ve missed this.”
I watch her walk down to where the surf meets sand, her hair blowing wild in the wind. She looks lighter here. Like the ocean’s pulling the weight out of her piece by piece. I remember when she first came home from rehab before we were even a thing, she always soothed herself at the beach.
I follow, slow, letting her have the silence. When I reach her, she’s barefoot, toes digging into the sand.
“I used to come here after rehab,” she says quietly. “When the noise got too loud. I’d just stand here and let the waves drown it out.”
I nod. “Same reason I ride.”
She turns to me, eyes soft. “You really okay with all this?”
“Define all this.”
“This baby,” she says, her voice small. “The not knowing. The possibility that—”
I stop her with a hand on her cheek. “Don’t finish that sentence.”
She blinks. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t matter.”
Her voice wavers. “How can you say that?”
“Because I already decided,” I tell her. “Whatever comes, whoever this child belongs to by blood — they’re mine if you want them to be. I don’t need a test to tell me what my heart already knows.”
Tears spill over before she can stop them. “You’d really…?”
“I already do.”
She covers her mouth, crying harder now, and I pull her in, wrapping her against me until her shaking slows. The ocean wind tugs at our clothes, salt stinging my throat.
“You keep apologizing,” I whisper into her hair. “But love ain’t about keeping score. You think I don’t know what broken feels like? We’ve both been there. Difference is, now we get to build something whole outta the pieces.”
She sniffles, looking up at me. “How are you so sure?”
“Because I learned a long time ago that pain’s a down payment on peace,” I say. “And Tiny, life has been Hell. Yours has been brutal at times. That price for peace, baby, we paid it in full.”
We walk for a while, hand in hand. The sun climbs higher, catching the silver thread of her bracelet, the one she never takes off.
When we stop, I pull something from my pocket.
Her eyes widen when she sees the box. “Tommy…”
“Don’t panic,” I say with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Ain’t no surprise proposal. You’ve already said yes once.”
She bites her lip, trembling. “You kept it?”
“Never could imagine letting you go, so yeah, I kept it waiting for you,” I admit. “I just needed to know when it was time. I’m not saying it’s got to be right away, but I want you to know.”
“Now?”
I drop to one knee — not the way movies do it, not dramatic, just steady. The sand crunches beneath me. I hold the box steady.
The ring gleams, same as it did that first night.
Her hands fly to her mouth, tears already streaming.
“Jami,” I start, voice low but sure. “You told me once you didn’t think you deserved forever. I’m here to tell you that’s a lie. You deserve every sunrise, every laugh, every quiet moment you were ever denied. You deserve peace. And I want to be the man who gives it to you. I want to give you my everything for always.”
Her breath catches, a sound between a sob and a laugh.
“I don’t care about yesterday,” I continue. “We all come from hell. What matters is what we build from the ashes. I love you, Jameson Rivera. I loved you through the dark, through the silence, through every mile between us. And I’ll love you through this too. I wanna raise kids with you, but more than anything I wanna give you my last name.”