If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 29

“What were you going to say earlier?”

We’re walking back to the main house and the sun is setting. It’s a beautiful evening, but I was reluctant to leave our bubble in the barn.

He smirks at me. “If you think I can remember anything resembling the English language after what you just did with your tongue . . .”

I smack his arm, blushing. “Would you hush?” I look around, but we’re out here alone. “Before we went into the barn, I said I liked being your friend, and you acted like you wanted to say something about it. Is this . . . You’d tell me if this was getting too weird for you, right?”

He reaches for my hand as if he needs the support. I don’t hate it. “Remember how I said my therapist walked me through that exercise?”

“Yeah.”

He squeezes my fingers gently. “When I imagined my future, I didn’t just see Jackson Harbor. I saw you.”

My stomach flips. I saw him too. I was just too scared to say it. I’m still too scared.

His steps slow, then he stops altogether as he turns to face me. “If you truly want to be my friend and nothing more, I’ll take it and consider myself lucky. But I’m done pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Can a stomach drop and dance all at once? Because mine is. We’ve never said those words. And now . . . “East.”

He scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “I screwed this up twice, and while I regret that the way I handled things hurt you, I can’t regret my choices, because now I have Abi. She might not be my blood, but she’s my . . .” He shifts his gaze skyward, and my heart twists as I watch his eyes fill with tears. “She’s my proudest accomplishment.”

“She’s amazing,” I say. “And so are you, Easton. She’s lucky to have you as a dad.” It’s really just that simple. I love the way he is with her. I love how unequivocally he puts her first. I love . . . him. And now, looking into his eyes while the cool spring breeze whips my hair around my shoulders, I know I’ve loved him forever. Even when my heart was broken and I tried to lock it away to protect it, I never stopped loving him.

He tilts my chin up and studies my face. “I’ve never felt like I was in a position where I could choose you both, so I made myself stay away. I kept my distance until I could have another chance with you that might actually last. Something solid enough to weather the worst storm. I want that chance, Shayleigh.”

I want all of that, but I can’t deny this piece of me that hesitates. This cautious bit of my soul that’s sending up a warning signal that we’ve been here before. I’ve believed in the improbable and was crushed. Twice. “Why do you want me, Easton?” It’s only once the question passes my lips that I realize it’s not the first time I’ve asked. I asked him when we were in Paris.

“Because of who you are. Because we’re good together.”

“But why?”

He grimaces then shakes his head. “I’m not good with the romantic words.”

I try not to crumble. I don’t want it to matter, but he was doing so well, and I asked and ruined it. “I think you’re better than you believe you are.”

“You’re the writer.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. “Do you think I could make the past up to you? Do you think you could love me too?”

Reaching up, I stroke my fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “Easton, I never stopped loving you.” He dips his head, lowering his mouth toward mine, but I stop him with a fingertip to his lips. “Loving you is part of who I am.”

He must see the hesitation on my face because the worry doesn’t leave his. “But . . .?”

“But I’m scared.”

“Even having decided that you’re not moving? You’re still . . . You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust life. I don’t trust all the things out of our control. Things happen and choices have to be made and . . .”

“I’ll prove it to you, then.” He nods, and I see his determination in the set of his jaw. “I’ll have to prove you can trust me. That I won’t hurt you again.”

I press my palms against his chest and rise onto my tiptoes as I slide them up to his shoulders.

He dips his head, stopping with his lips a breath from mine. “When you pictured your future today . . . could you make any room in there for me?”

“No, Easton.” I shake my head, and his face drops. “I don’t need to make room because you were already there.”

He wraps his arms behind my back and lifts me off the ground, crushing my body to his as he kisses me. I kiss him back and try to ignore the nagging feeling that tells me I’ve invited heartache back into my life.

Shay

Do doctors’ offices intentionally turn down the heat in rooms where women are wearing these flimsy exam robes? Because as I sit on the edge of the table and wait for my doctor to join me, I’m practically shivering. I think my toes might be turning blue.

I wrap my arms around myself and sigh. The fact that I’m even here instead of just getting a quick STI panel drawn up at the lab speaks to the magnitude of my hypochondria. Symptoms? Exhaustion. Queasiness. And a side of I-could-fall-asleep-any-fucking-where.

Please don’t be cancer.

I shrug. I’ve been heavy, and I’ve been anorexic. My period was never regular until I got a handle on both and went on the pill. “It was light, I guess. That’s not uncommon for me.” Shit. My eyes instantly fill with unexpected tears. Am I going to have to get a hysterectomy before I’ve even had a chance to start a family? I wipe at my cheeks. “If it’s uterine cancer, do you think . . . will I still be able to have children?”