After the Climb (River Rain #1) - Kristen Ashley Page 0,48
whispered to his shirt.
“No,” he grunted.
“You had to take that journey yourself.”
“Yeah.”
“Corey still played you.”
“Yes.”
She let out a little sigh and melted deeper into him.
Good Christ.
Christ.
Genny.
He wrapped an arm around her, twisted his neck, and rested his jaw on her head.
“But you know I always believed in you.”
He shut his eyes tighter and felt the wet slide over the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, baby. I knew I always had you.”
“Then as long as that’s the case, let’s figure out what’s next.”
Fuck.
Christ.
Fuck.
He had to open his eyes to put his mug on the railing, something he did and quick.
Then he curled his other arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight.
She squeezed him back.
His voice was hoarse when he started, “I wasted—”
“Stop it.”
“We lost—”
“Stop it, Bowie.”
He shut up.
“It would have happened, you know, somewhere along the line,” she said.
Yeah.
He knew.
“It could have been my career taking off as quickly as it did. It could have been you not liking LA, because I’m not sure you’ve been there, but it’s not one thing like here.”
A startled chuckle burst from his chest and he kept holding her tight.
“I’ve been there, Gen, and I’m not a fan.”
“I bet not,” she muttered.
They were silent.
She spoke first.
“It would have been something.”
“Yeah.”
“We weren’t ready.”
“You were. But I wasn’t.”
She tipped her head back. “You let me go and I let you let me go, Bowie. One could argue it isn’t the place of a woman accused of something like that when she didn’t do it to chase after her man. But you knew me better and I knew you did. And I didn’t chase after my man.”
“I’m not real comfortable with you takin’ any of the blame for this, baby,” he informed her.
“There are a variety of incidences where men and women fuck up and do hurtful things for no reason at all. Things that are avoidable, and if they do them, they’re unforgiveable. This is not one of those cases. Trust me,” she gave him a careful smile, “your fuckup was really, really huge. And I have no crystal ball to see what would have become of us if you didn’t believe Corey. But something you said yesterday has stuck with me. We were too young for something that big. It was going to overwhelm us eventually. So, you know, wresting my rose-colored glasses from the gnarled, twisted, but deathly strong fingers of the hands of time and perching them back on my nose, what you did probably saved us so we could have whatever we’re going to have now.”
“Wresting your rose-colored glasses from the hands of time?” he teased.
She gave him a shake with her arms.
He got serious and said, “I’ll take that view through those glasses, Genny. And we’ll take it from here.”
“Good,” she stated firmly.
Christ, he needed to kiss her.
“But this does not let Corey off the hook,” she declared.
Obviously, he did not kiss her.
“Baby—”
“If you’re going to petition for my forgiveness of him, forget it, Bowie.”
“No way in fuck I’d ever do that.”
She stared up at him.
“And that’s not totally about what he did to me and you. It’s about what he kept doing to you all these years. Knowin’ the lie he told and how it affected you and bein’ close enough to you, your kids call him Uncle Corey. Which, by the way, makes me wanna throw something every time I hear Chloe say it.”
Motherly concern washed into her face and she asked, “Do you talk about him a lot?”
“No. Mostly she bosses me while alternately feeding me and hiding the fact she’s spoiling my animals so this house will never be the same if she’s not in it, which I know is her goal. Chloe Pierce will never leave a place the same as it was before she arrived there. It’s a singular gift. And Tuck is gonna hate me forever when I make it clear the counters are again off-limits.”
She jostled him happily and set her chin on his chest, her eyes shining.
She was proud of her girl, as terrorizing as she was.
And he loved that.
“Gage is gonna have a massive crush on her,” he muttered.
“How old is he?”
“Nineteen going on eleven.”
She started giggling.
“And your older boy? Sullivan? How old is he?” she asked.
“He’s twenty-one, and those hands of time you wrested your glasses from?”
“Hmm?”
“Those were his.”
She giggled harder at that, so much, he felt it against his body.