“Born to love you, baby,” he repeated. “Die lovin’ you, my Sylvie.”
“You need me. You won’t stay away and you won’t let me go because, baby, you can’t breathe without me.”
“You love me?” he asked quietly. I dipped my face close and answered quietly, “On a cold night, a long time ago, you put your hands almost exactly where they are right now and, I might have been six years old, but I fell hard. So, yeah. For over twenty-seven years, every day, every minute, every second, I’ve loved you, Tucker Creed.”
“I’d move here. I’d move to the goddamned, fucking moon to wake up to you in my bed.”
“It’s always you and me.” I nodded again and felt my lips quivering. He kept whispering, “Always me and my Sylvie, yeah?” “Yeah,” I whispered.”
“I’m not what you want, Sylvie, I get that because it’s the same for you as it is for me. I’m not what you want ‘cause I’m what you need.”
“Honest to Christ, give you anything. Anything, baby. But lost enough time. Can’t give you that. Space , maybe. Time. No.”
“Some people get to live life. Some people survive it. We’re survivors. We can carve out our piece of happy, and, I swear to God, baby, right now, you got my vow, for you and for me, the rest of our lives, I’ll bust my ass to carve our piece of happy.”
“Then and now, beautiful, I’ll take you any way you come to me … Any way. I love this Sylvie, I loved that Sylvie. I just love you, baby.”
“Beauty,” he whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“Beauty. It’s pure beauty you don’t wanna be away from me. I don’t like that, baby. I love it”
“I stopped opposite the counter and looked back up at him. “Have I told you you’re an asshole today?”
“You just got up, so, no.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He grinned again.”
“You know what love is?"
Creed asked that and my eyes shot from the hair on his forehead to his.
"I..." I swallowed again then, holding his eyes, I whispered, "Yes. I do. I know what love is, Creed."
I felt his big hand curl warm on the side of my face before I felt the pad of his thumb sweep across my lips again. He watched it move as he replied, "I do too, baby." His eyes came to mine. "I absolutely do.”
“We make a baby, Sylvie, we do it making love. Not fucking on the kitchen floor.”
“I gave you up once. It killed me. it was figuratively but it still killed me. I’m not doin’ that shit again.”
“They took you away from me."
His hand squeezed mine, the pendants and chains digging into my skin.
"I'm back, baby.”
“He crossed his arms again and requested, “You wanna stop aiming your weapon at me?”
Actually, no. I didn’t. I wanted to keep aiming my gun at him and I might also want to pull the trigger.”
“Just so you know, I speak English. You don’t have to macho-speak with shit like ‘you with me’ after you macho-speak with a bunch of bossing me around. I get you. I’m with you. Or if I’m not, I’ll tell you.”
“Noted,” he muttered but sounded like he was smiling.
I made the diplomatic decision not to look.”
“We been through a lot and you earned a piece of my heart, babe. It’s all yours and always will be.”
- Knight.”
“I’ll take this. I’ll take this every day and every day I’ll know in the end I beat that bastard. He might not have been alive to see it, but I bet his goddamned, motherfucking ass.”
Seriously, he was hot when he was being all vengeful badass.”
“But me, my jeans, tank, boots and socks, commando and braless, walked right out the door and, like we had many, many times before, we took on the night.”
“I may have mentioned patience wasn't one of my virtues. Actually, I didn't have many virtues but patience definitely wasn't one of them.”
“Come back to me,” I begged, the tear slipping over my eye and gliding down my cheek.”
“Baby,” another voice came into my ear and this was my man’s, “shut the fuck up, concentrate and don’t sit there muttering into your tits makin’ it look like you’re waitin’ to fuck over some asshole. He sees you doin’ that shit, these guys we’re hunting will take you out and tonight is not my night to lose you.”
“Bottom of my soul,” he whispered across the room, eyes locked to mine.
I sucked in breath through my nose before I whispered back, “Bottom of mine.”
“It was cool to wake up knowing your day would include someone else in a way that was integral to life.”
“How you feel about marrying me?" he asked in my ear.”
“You feed your cat once a day?” he asked, and I stopped opposite the bar and planted my hands on my hips. “Yeah,” I answered. “She says two,” Creed informed me. Shit. He spoke cat. This was not good. Gun knew all my secrets.”
“I would work with him to make Knight’s troubles go away. In the meantime, I could jump a hot guy whenever I felt like it.
This was not a bad deal.”
“some people get to live life. some people survive it. We're survivors. We can carve out our pieces of happy...But we're foolin' ourselves if we think we can set aside the shit that happened to us, the shit done to us, the shit we've done and move on. It'll be with us forever. We just gotta learn to live with it. We bury it, deny it or pretend it isn't there, we're fucked. It'll surface and tear us to shreds. We acknowledge it and keep on keepin' the fuck on, and we'll be good.”
“y será un jueves de un mes impar de un año bisiesto.”
“Sometimes I think I enjoy pain, physically and mentally. Sick right?”
“I think about how quickly things have changed for me. But that’s the personality of change, isn’t it? When it’s slow, it’s called growth; when it’s fast, it’s change. And God, how things change: some things, nothings, anythings, everything… all the things change.”
“All of this suggests that one of the best things each of us can do—not only for ourselves, but also for our children and grandchildren—is to metabolize our pain and heal our trauma. When we heal and make more room for growth in our nervous systems, we have a better chance of spreading our emotional health to our descendants, via healthy DNA expression. In contrast, when we don’t address our trauma, we may pass it on to future generations, along with some of our fear, constriction, and dirty pain.”
“In all of this she was only partially successful, for although Nurse knew that once Miss Venetia had made up her mind she was powerless to prevent her doing whatever she liked, and was obliged to admit some faint resemblance in Damerel to the Good Samaritan, she persisted in referring to him as The Ungodly, and in ascribing his charitable behaviour to some obscure but evil motive. She”
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