Chapter Twenty Five
Sydney
“I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are,” Warren says, kicking my legs
off the coffee table. “I’m bored out of my mind.
Bridgette works all weekend, and Ridge is off
doing God knows what with God knows who.”
I immediately look up at him with my heart
caught in my throat.
He laughs. “That got your attention.” He
reaches forward, grabs my hands, and pulls me
off the couch. “I’m kidding. Ridge is at home
working, being a mopey little shit, just like
you’re trying to be. Now, go get pretty and come
out with me tonight, or I’ll sit on the couch with
you and force you to watch porn.”
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I pull my hands from his and walk to the kit-
chen. I open a cabinet, then grab a cup. “I don’t
want to go out tonight, Warren. I had class all
day, and it’s my only night off from the library.
I’m sure you can find someone else to go with
you.” I grab a container of juice from the refri-
gerator and fill my glass. Leaning against the
counter, I take a sip as I watch Warren pout in
my living room. He’s kind of adorable when he
pouts, which is why I always give him such a
hard time.
“Listen up, Syd,” he says, walking toward the
kitchen. He grabs a bar stool and pulls it out, then
takes a seat. “I’m about to lay things out for you,
okay?”
I roll my eyes. “I doubt I can stop you, so go
ahead.”
He lays his palms flat on the counter in front of
him and leans forward. “You suck.”
I laugh. “That’s it? That’s what you needed to
lay out for me?”
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He nods. “You suck. So does Ridge. Since the
night I gave him your address, you’ve both
sucked. All he does is work or write music. He
doesn’t even play pranks on me anymore. Every
time I’m over here, you’re just focused on study-
ing. You never want to go out. You never want to
hear my sex stories anymore.”
“Correction,” I say, interrupting him. “I’ve
never wanted to hear your sex stories. That’s
nothing new.”
“Whatever,” he says, shaking his head. “My
point is that the two of you are miserable. I know
you need time and blah, blah, blah, but that
doesn’t mean you have to give up fun while
you’re figuring your life out. I want to go have
fun. No one wants to have fun with me anymore,
and that’s all your fault, because you’re the only
one who can put a stop to the misery you and
Ridge are going through. So, yes. You suck. You
suck, you suck, you suck. And if you want to
stop sucking so much, then go get dressed so we
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can go out and not suck together for just a few
hours.”
I don’t know how to argue with that. I do suck.
I suck, I suck, I suck. Only Warren could put it in
such a simple, straightforward way that would
actually make sense. I know I’ve been miserable
the past few months, and it doesn’t help to know
that Ridge has been miserable, too. He’s miser-
able because he’s sitting around waiting for me to
get over whatever it is that’s keeping me from
contacting him.
The last thing he said in his letter to me was
Just say when.
I’ve been trying to say when since the moment
I read that letter, but I’m just too scared. I’ve
never felt about anyone or anything the way I
feel about him, and the thought of our not work-
ing out is enough to keep me from saying that
one little word. I feel as if the longer we wait and
the more time we have to heal, the better chance
we’ll have at our maybe someday.
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I keep waiting for the moment when I know
for sure that he’s moved on from Maggie. I keep
waiting for the moment when I know for sure
that he’s ready to commit fully to me. I keep
waiting for the moment when I know for sure
that I’m not going to be consumed with guilt for
allowing myself to trust someone with my heart
again.
I don’t know when I’ll get to that point, and it
hurts to know that my inability to move forward
is holding Ridge back.
“Now,” Warren says, shoving me out of the
kitchen. “Get dressed.”
? ? ?
I can’t believe I’ve let him talk me into this. I
check my makeup one last time and grab my
purse. As soon as he sees me, he shakes his head.
I huff and throw my hands in the air.
“What now?” I sigh. “I’m not dressed
appropriately?”
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“You look great, but I want you to wear the
blue dress.”
“I burned that dress, remember?” I say.
“The hell you did,” he says, pushing me back
toward my bedroom. “You were wearing it last
week when I stopped by. Go put it on so we can
leave.”
I spin around to face him. “I know how much
you like that dress, and wearing it tonight while
I’m out with you is a little too creepy, Warren.”
He narrows his eyes. “Listen, Syd. I don’t
mean to be rude, but all this moping around for
the past few months has caused you to put on a
little weight. Your ass looks huge in those jeans.
The blue dress may be able to hide a little of that,
so go put it on, or I might be too embarrassed to
go out with you.”
I suddenly feel like slapping him again, but I
know he’s just got a peculiar sense of humor. I
also know he might have a completely different
reason for why he wants me to wear this dress
and I’m trying not to let myself think it has
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anything to do with Ridge, but pretty much every
situation I’m in somehow makes me think about
Ridge. It’s nothing new. But Warren is a guy
who seems to put his foot in his mouth a lot, and
I’m a girl, so I still wonder if his sarcastic remark has any truth to it. I have been replacing the void Ridge left in my life with food. I look down at
my stomach and pat it, then look back up at War-
ren. “You’re an a*shole.”
He nods. “I know.”
The innocent smile on his face makes me in-
stantly forgive any crudeness behind his joke. I
change into the blue dress, but I am so cock-blocking him tonight. Jerk.
? ? ?
“Wow. This is . . . different,” I say, taking in my
surroundings. It’s nothing like the clubs Warren
usually likes to go to. This one is a lot smaller,
without even much of a dance floor. There’s an
empty stage along one wall, but there’s no one
performing tonight. The jukebox is playing, and
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several people are scattered around at tables, talk-
ing quietly among themselves. Warren chooses a
table toward the middle of the room.
“You’re a cheap date,” I say. “You didn’t even
feed me.”
He laughs. “I’ll buy you a burger on the way
home.”
Warren pulls out his phone and begins texting
someone, so I look around for a while. It’s kind
of cozy. It’s also kind of weird that Warren
brought me here. But I’m thinking he doesn’t
have any evil intentions, because he’s not even
paying attention to me.
His attention is on his phone, and he keeps
glancing at the door. I don’t understand why he
wanted to come out tonight, and I especially
don’t understand why he chose this place.
“You’re actually the one who sucks,” I say.
“Stop ignoring me.”
He responds without even looking up at me.
“You aren’t talking, so technically, I’m not ig-
noring you.”
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I’m curious now. He’s not being himself, the
way he’s so distracted. “What’s up with you,
Warren?”
As soon as I ask the question, he looks up from
his phone and smiles over my shoulder, then
stands. “You’re late,” he says to someone behind
me. I look to see Bridgette walking toward us.
“Screw you, Warren,” she says to him with a
small smile. He wraps his arms around her, and
they kiss for several uncomfortable seconds. I
reach up and tap him on the arm when I’m con-
vinced that neither of them can breathe. He pulls
away from Bridgette, winks at her, and slides out
his chair for her.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” he says to
Bridgette. He points at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He says it as if it’s a command, and it irritates
me even more because he’s being really rude to-
night. I turn and face Bridgette once he’s left the
table. “Warren said you were working all week-
end,” I say.
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She shrugs. “Yeah, well, he probably told you
that because of the elaborate scheme he has
planned for tonight. He made me come so you
wouldn’t leave when you found out about it. Oh,
and I’m not supposed to tell you any of that, so if
he comes back, play dumb.”
My heart rate escalates. “Please tell me you’re
kidding.”
She shakes her head and raises her arm in the
air, calling over a waiter. “I wish I was kidding. I
had to switch shifts to be here, and now I have to
work a double tomorrow.”
I drop my head into my hands, regretting the
fact that I let Warren talk me into anything. Just
when I’m reaching for my purse to leave, he
walks out onto the empty stage.
“Oh, God,” I groan. “What the hell is he do-
ing?” My stomach is in knots. I have no idea
what he has planned, but whatever it is, it can’t
be good.
He taps on the microphone, then adjusts the
height of it. “I’d like to thank everyone for
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coming tonight. Not that any of you are here for
this particular event, since it’s a surprise, but I
feel the need to thank you anyway.”
He adjusts the microphone once more, then
finds our table in the crowd and waves. “I want
to apologize to you, Syd, because I feel really
bad for lying to you. You haven’t gained weight,
and your ass looked great in those jeans, but you
really needed to wear that dress tonight. Also,
you don’t suck. I lied about that, too.”
Several people in the crowd laugh, but I just
groan and bury my face in my hands, peeking
through my fingers at him up on the stage.
“All right, let’s get on with it, shall we? We
have a few new songs for you tonight. Unfortu-
nately, the whole band couldn’t be here, be-
cause”—he looks to his left at the small width of
the stage, then to his right—“well, I don’t think
they all could have fit. So I’d like to present to
you a small portion of the band Sounds of
Cedar.”
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My heart falls to the floor. I close my eyes
when the crowd begins to clap.
Please, let it be Ridge.
Please, don’t let it be Ridge.
Jesus, when will this confusion go away?
I can hear commotion up on the stage, and I’m
too scared to open my eyes. I want to see him sit-
ting up there so much it hurts.
“Hey, Syd,” Warren says into the microphone.
I inhale a slow, calming breath, then open my
eyes and hesitantly look up at him. “Remember a
few months ago when I told you sometimes we
have to have really bad days in order to keep the
good ones in perspective?”
I think I nod. I can’t really feel my body
anymore.
“Well, this is one of the good days. This is one
of the really good days.” He raises his hand in the
air and motions to my table. “Somebody get that
girl a shot of whatever will help loosen her up.”
He moves the microphone to the stool next to
him, and my eyes are glued to the empty chairs.
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Someone lays a shot on the table in front of me,
and I instantly grab it and down it. I drop the shot
glass back onto the table and look up just in time
to see them walk onto the stage. Brennan is first,
and Ridge is right behind him, carrying a guitar.
Oh, my God. He looks incredible. It’s the first
time I’ve ever seen him on a stage. I’ve been
wanting to watch him perform since the first mo-
ment I heard his guitar on my balcony and here I
am, about to watch my fantasy become reality.
He looks the same as he did the last time I saw
him, just . . . incredible. I guess he looked incred-
ible back then, too. I just didn’t feel right allow-
ing myself to admit it when I knew he wasn’t
mine. I must feel okay about it now, because holy
crap. He’s beautiful. He carries himself with such
confidence and I can definitely see why. His
arms look as if they were built for the sole pur-
pose of carrying a guitar. It molds to him so nat-
urally, it’s as if it’s an extension of him. There
isn’t a shadow of guilt clouding his eyes like
there always was in the past. He’s smiling, like
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he’s excited for what’s about to happen. His en-
igmatic smile lights up his face and his face
lights up the entire room. At least it seems that
way to me. He glances over the audience several
times as he makes his way toward his seat, but he
doesn’t immediately spot me.
He takes a seat on the center stool, and Bren-
nan sits to the left of him, Warren to his right. He
signs to Warren, and Warren points at me. Ridge
looks out into the audience and finds me. My
hands are clamped over my mouth, and my el-
bows are propped up on the table. He smiles and
gives me a nod and my heart crashes to the floor.
I can’t smile or wave or nod back at him. I’m too
nervous to move.
Brennan leans forward and speaks into the mi-
crophone. “We’ve got a few new songs—”
His voice is cut off when Ridge pulls the mi-
crophone away from him and leans in toward it.
“Sydney,” Ridge says into the microphone,
“some of these songs I wrote with you. Some of
these songs I wrote for you.”
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I can hear a small difference in the way he
speaks now. I’ve never heard him say so much at
once out loud. He also seems to enunciate a little
more clearly than the few times he’s spoken to
me in the past, like the subject in the photograph
is slightly more in focus. It’s obvious he’s been
working on it, and knowing he’s continued to
talk out loud makes my eyes tear up without even
having heard a song yet.
“If you aren’t ready to say the word, that’s
fine,” he says. “I’ll wait as long as you need me
to. I just hope you don’t mind this interruption to-
night.” He pushes the microphone away, then
looks down to his guitar. Brennan leans into the
microphone and looks at me.
“He can’t hear what I’m saying right now, so
I’ll take this opportunity to tell you Ridge is full
of shit. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. He
wants you to say the word more than he wants
air. So please, for the sake of all that is holy, say the word tonight.”
I laugh as I wipe a tear from my eye.
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Ridge plays the opening chords to “Trouble,”
and I finally realize why Warren made me wear
this dress. Brennan leans forward and begins to
sing, and I remain completely immobile as War-
ren signs every word to the song while Ridge
keeps his focus on the fingers strumming his gui-
tar. Watching the three of them together, seeing
the beauty they can create from a few words and
guitars, is mesmerizing.
Ridge
When the song ends, I look up at her.
She’s crying, but those tears are accompanied
by a smile, and that’s exactly what I was hoping I
would see when I looked up from my guitar. See-
ing her for the first time since I kissed her good-
bye has a far greater effect on me than I thought
it would. I’m trying my damndest to remember
what it is I’m here to do, but all I want to do is
toss my guitar aside, rush to her, and kiss her
crazy.
Instead, I keep my eyes trained on hers while I
play another song she helped me write. I begin
the opening chords to “Maybe Someday.” She
smiles and clutches a hand to her chest while she
watches me play.
It’s times like these I’m actually thankful I
can’t hear. Not being distracted by anything at all
allows me to focus on nothing but her. I can feel
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the music vibrating in my chest as I watch her
lips singing along to the lyrics until the very last
line.
I planned on playing a few more songs we
wrote together, but seeing her has changed my
mind. I want to get to the new songs I wrote for
her, because I absolutely need to see her reaction
to them. I start one of them, knowing Warren and
Brennan will have no problem falling into step
with the change-up. Her eyes glisten when she
realizes that this is a song she’s never heard be-
fore, and she leans forward in her chair, focusing
intently on the three of us.
Sydney
There are only twenty-six letters in the English
alphabet. You would think there would only be
so much you could do with twenty-six letters.
You would think there were only so many ways
those letters could make you feel when mixed up
and shoved together to make words.
However, there are infinite ways those twenty-
six letters can make a person feel, and this song
is living proof. I’ll never understand how a few
simple words strung together can change a per-
son, but this song, these words, are completely
changing me. I feel like my maybe someday just became my right now.
HOLD ON TO YOU
The cool air running through my hair
Nights like these, doesn’t seem fair
For you and I to be so far away
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The stars all shimmer like a melody
Like they’re playing for you and me
But only I can hear their sound
Maybe if I ask them they will play for you
I try wishing on one, maybe I’ll try two
It doesn’t look like there’s much for me to
do
I want to hold on to you
Just like these memories I can’t undo
I want to hold on to you
Without you here that’s kind of hard to do
I want to hold
I want to hold on to you
The front seat’s empty, and I know
When it’s just me I seem to go
To places I never wanted to
I need you here to be a light
Star in the sky brighten up my night
Sometimes I need the dark to see
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So come on, come on, turn it on for me
Just a little light, and I’ll be able to see
Promise like a comet you won’t fly by me
I want to hold on to you
Just like these memories I can’t undo
I want to hold on to you
Without you here that’s kind of hard to do
I want to hold
I want to hold on to you
Ridge
I finish the song and don’t give myself time to
look up at her before I begin playing another one.
I’m afraid if I look at her, I’ll lose every bit of
willpower still keeping me up on this stage. I
want to go to her so bad, but I know how import-
ant it is for her to hear this next song. I also don’t want to be the one to make the final choice. If
she’s ready to be with me, she knows what I need
from her. If she’s not ready, I’ll respect her
decision.
However, if she’s not ready to begin the life I
know we could have together by the end of this
song, I don’t know if she’ll ever be ready.
I keep my eyes trained on my fingers as they
work the strings of the guitar. I glance at Bren-
nan, and he leans forward into the microphone,
his voice starting on cue. I glance to Warren, and
he begins signing the words.
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I slowly scan the crowd and find her again.
Our eyes lock.
I don’t look away.
Sydney
“Wow,” Bridgette whispers. Her eyes are glued
to the stage just like mine. Just like every other
pair of eyes in the room. The three of them make
one hell of a team, but knowing that these words
are Ridge’s words and he wrote them specifically
for me leaves me feeling more than over-
whelmed. I can’t look away from him. For the
entire length of the song, I barely move. I barely
breathe.
LET IT BEGIN
Time went fast
Time went fast till it was gone
You think it’s right
You think it’s right until it’s wrong
Even after all this time
I still want you
Even after all my mind
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Put me through
So won’t you
Won’t you let it begin
So won’t you
Won’t you let it begin
You hold it out
You hold your heart out in your hand
I snatch it up
I snatch it up fast as I can
Even after all this time
I still want you
Even after all my mind
Put me through
I stand here at your door
Until you come and let me in
I want to be your end
But you gotta let it begin
So won’t you
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Won’t you let it begin
So won’t you
Won’t you just say when
Ridge
Our gazes never deviate from each other.
Throughout the song, her focus remains solely on
mine and mine on hers. When the song ends, I
don’t move. I wait for her mind and her life to
catch up to her heart, and I hope it happens soon.
Tonight. Right now.
She wipes tears from her eyes, then lifts her
hands. She holds up her left index finger, brings
her right index finger close to the left and circles
it around, and then the tips of her fingers touch.
I can’t move.
She just signed for me.
She just said “when.”
Seeing her sign is something I never expected.
It’s something I never would have even asked her
to do. Learning how to communicate with me the
whole time we’ve been apart is the most amazing
thing anyone has ever done for me.
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I’m shaking my head, unable to get it through
my mind that this girl is willingly mine and she’s
perfect and beautiful and good and, holy shit, I
love her so much.
She’s smiling, but I’m still frozen in shock.
She laughs at my response and signs the word
again, several times. “When, when, when.”
Brennan shoves my shoulder, and I look over
at him. He laughs. “Go,” he signs, nodding his
head in Sydney’s direction. “Go get your girl.”
I immediately drop my guitar to the floor and
rush off the stage. She pushes away from her
table as soon as she sees me making my way to-
ward her. She’s only a few feet away, but I can’t
get to her fast enough. I take in the dress she has
on and make a mental note to thank Warren later.
I have a feeling he had something to do with that.
I look into her tear-filled eyes when I finally
reach her. She’s smiling up at me, and for the
first time since the moment I met her, we’re look-
ing at each other without a trace of guilt or worry
or regret or shame.
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She throws her arms around my neck, and I
pull her to me and bury my face in her hair. I
hold her head firmly against me and close my
eyes. We hold on to each other as if we’re afraid
to let go.
I can feel her crying, so I put enough space
between us so I can look into her eyes. She lifts
her head, and I’ve never seen tears look more
beautiful.
“You signed,” I say out loud.
She smiles. “You spoke. A lot.”
“I’m not very good at it,” I admit. I know my
words are hard to understand, and I still feel un-
comfortable when I speak, but I love seeing her
eyes when she hears my voice. It makes me want
to speak every single word I possibly can right
here and now.
“I’m not good, either,” she says. She pulls
away from me and lifts her hands to sign. “War-
ren has been helping me. I only know about two
hundred words, but I’m learning.”
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It’s been several months since I last saw her,
and while I’ve been trying to believe she still
wanted to be with me, I did have my doubts. I
was starting to question our decision to wait be-
fore starting our relationship. What I never ex-
pected was for her to spend those months learn-
ing how to communicate with me in a way my
own parents didn’t even care enough to learn.
“I just fell completely in love with you,” I say
to her. I glance at Bridgette, who is still seated at the table. “Did you see it, Bridgette? Did you see
me just fall in love with her?”
Bridgette rolls her eyes, and I feel Sydney
laugh. I look back down at her. “I did. Like
twenty seconds ago. I fell completely in love
with you.”
She smiles and mouths her next words slowly
so I can understand her. “I fell first.”
When the last word passes her lips, I catch it
with my mouth. Since the second I walked away
from these lips, I’ve done nothing but think about
the moment I would get to taste them again. She
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pulls me tightly against her, and I kiss her hard,
then delicately, then fast and slow and every way
in between. I kiss her every way I can possibly
kiss her, because I plan on loving her every way I
can possibly love her. Every single time we re-
fused to cave in to our feelings in the past makes
this kiss completely worth the sacrifices. This
kiss is worth all the tears, all the heartache, all the pain, all the struggles, all the waiting.
She’s worth it all.
She’s worth more.
Sydney
We make it to my apartment somehow between
all the kissing. He releases me long enough to let
me unlock the door, but he loses his patience as
soon as it’s unlocked. I laugh when he shoves the
door open and pushes me inside. He closes the
door, locks it, and turns around to face me again.
We look at each other for several seconds.
“Hi,” he says simply.
I laugh. “Hi.”
He looks around the room nervously before his
eyes fall back to mine. “Is that good enough?” he
asks.
I cock my head, because I don’t really under-
stand his question. “Is what good enough?”
He grins. “I was hoping that was enough talk
for tonight.”
Oh.
I get his question now.
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I nod slowly, and he smiles, then steps forward
and kisses me. He bends slightly and lifts me by
the waist, wrapping my legs around him. He se-
cures his arms around my back and begins walk-
ing me toward my bedroom.
As many times as I’ve seen this happen in
movies and read about it in books, I’ve never ac-
tually been picked up and carried by a man be-
fore. I think I’m in love with it. Being carried in-
to a bedroom by Ridge is quite possibly my new
favorite thing out of any and all things.
That is, until he kicks my bedroom door shut
behind him. Maybe Ridge kicking doors shut is
my new favorite thing.
He gently lowers me to the bed, and even
though I’m sad that he’s not carrying me any-
more, I’m a little bit happier to find myself be-
neath him. Every single move he makes is better
and sexier than the last one. He pauses for a mo-
ment as he hovers over me, and his eyes roam
sensually over my entire body, until they come to
a pause on the hem of my dress. He reaches
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down and pushes it up, and I lift myself up off
the bed just enough for him to pull it over my
head.
He sucks in a breath when he looks down at
me and sees that the only thing coming between
him and a completely naked me is a very thin
layer of panty. He begins to lower himself on top
of me, but I push on his chest and shake my head,
tugging on his shirt to let him know it’s his turn.
He grins and quickly pulls his shirt over his head,
then leans in toward me again. I push against him
once more, and he reluctantly lifts himself up,
shooting me a look of amused annoyance. I point
to his jeans, and he backs away from the bed, and
in two swift movements, the rest of his clothes
are somewhere on my bedroom floor. I don’t
quite catch where he tossed them, because my
eyes are sort of preoccupied.
He makes his way on top of me again, and I
don’t stop him this time. I welcome him by wrap-
ping my legs around his waist and my arms
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around his back and guiding his mouth back to
mine.
We mold and fit together so perfectly it’s as if
we were made for this sole purpose. His left hand
fits perfectly into mine as he brings my arm
above my head and presses it into the mattress.
His tongue melds perfectly with mine as he con-
tinues to tease my entire mouth as if it were made
for this very purpose. His right hand seamlessly
conforms to my outer thigh as he digs his fingers
into my skin and shifts his weight perfectly
against me.
His mouth leaves mine long enough to taste
my jaw . . . my neck . . . my shoulder.
I don’t know how being consumed by him
could lend clarity to my purpose in life, but it ab-
solutely feels that way. Everything about me and
him and life makes so much more sense when
we’re together like this. He makes me feel more
beautiful. More important. More loved. More
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second that passes, I become more and more
greedy, wanting all of every single part of him.
I push against his chest, needing space
between us so I can sign to him. He looks down
at my hands when he realizes what I’m doing. I
hope I get it right, because I’ve practiced signing
this sentence no fewer than a thousand times
since I last saw him.
“I have something I need to say before we do
this.”
He pulls back a few inches, watching my
hands, waiting.
I sign the words “I love you.”
His eyebrows draw apart, and relief floods his
eyes. He lowers his mouth to my hands and
kisses them, over and over, then quickly pulls
farther away, unwrapping my legs from around
his waist. Just when I begin to fear he’s come to
some absurd notion that we need to stop, he
lowers himself to my side but leans over me and
presses his ear against my chest.
“I want to feel you say it.”
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I press my lips into his hair, then lightly secure
him against me. “I love you, Ridge,” I whisper.
His grip tightens around my waist, so I contin-
ue repeating it several times.
I keep his head pressed against my chest with
both hands. He releases his grip on my waist and
trails his hand over my stomach, causing my
muscles to clench beneath his touch. He contin-
ues stroking his hand in sensuous circles over my
stomach. I stop repeating the words and focus on
where his hand is traveling, but he stops abruptly.
“I don’t feel you saying it,” he says.
“I love you,” I quickly repeat. When the words
leave my lips, his fingers begin moving again. As
soon as I’m quiet, his fingers stop.
It doesn’t take me long to figure out what
game he’s playing. I grin and say it again.
“I love you.”
His fingers slip inside the top edge of my
panties, and my voice grows quiet again. It’s
really hard for me to speak when his hand is that
close. It’s really hard to do anything. His fingers
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come to a pause just inside my panties when he
doesn’t feel me talking. I want his hand to keep
moving, so I somehow breathe the words.
“I love you.”
His hand slides further inside and stops. I close
my eyes and say it again. Slowly.
“I . . . love . . . you.”
What he does next with his hand causes me to
repeat the words again instantly.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again and again and again, until my
panties are somewhere on the floor, and I’ve said
the words so many times and so fast that I’m al-
most screaming them now. He continues to prove
with the expertise of his hand that he’s quite pos-
sibly the absolute best listener I’ve ever
encountered.
“I love you,” I whisper one last time between
faltered and shallow breaths. I’m too weak to ut-
ter the words again, and my hands fall away from
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his head and land against the mattress with a
thud.
He lifts his head away from my chest and
scoots upward until his face is so close to mine
our noses brush. “I love you, too,” he says with a
smug grin.
I smile, but my smile fades when he rolls away
from me, leaving me alone on the bed. I’m too
exhausted and spent to reach out for him.
However, he returns to the bed as quickly as he
left it. He tears open a condom wrapper and
keeps his eyes focused on mine, never once look-
ing away.
The way he’s looking at me, as if I’m the only
thing that matters in his world, makes the mo-
ment take on a whole new feel. I’m completely
consumed, not by waves of pleasure but by
waves of raw emotion. I didn’t know I could feel
someone this much. I didn’t know I could need
someone this much. I had no idea I was capable
of sharing this kind of connection with someone.
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Ridge lifts a hand and wipes away a tear from
my temple, then dips his head and kisses me,
gentle and soft, coaxing even more tears out of
me. It’s the perfect kiss for the perfect moment. I
know he feels what I’m feeling, because my tears
don’t alarm him at all. He knows they’re not tears
of regret or sadness. They’re simply tears. Emo-
tional tears stemming from an emotional moment
that I never imagined could be this incredible.
He’s waiting patiently for my permission, so I
nod softly, and it’s all the confirmation he needs.
He lowers his cheek to mine and slowly begins to
ease himself against me. I squeeze my eyes shut
and focus on trying to relax, but my entire body
is way too tense.
I’ve only ever had sex with one guy, and he
didn’t mean half as much to me as Ridge does.
The thought of sharing this experience with
Ridge, as much as I want to, makes me so
nervous I’m physically unable to hide my
discomfort.
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He can sense my apprehension, so he pauses
and stills himself above me. I love how in tune he
is with me already. He looks down at me, his
dark brown eyes searching mine. He takes both
of my hands and pulls them over my head, then
laces our fingers together and presses them into
the mattress. He leans into my ear. “Want me to
stop?”
I quickly shake my head no.
He laughs softly. “Then you have to relax,
Syd.”
I bite my bottom lip and nod, completely lov-
ing the fact that he just said “Syd” out loud. He
runs his nose down my jaw-line, then brings his
lips close to mine. Every touch sends waves of
heat coursing through me, but it doesn’t ease my
apprehension. Everything about this moment is
so perfect I’m afraid I might do something to
mess it up. It can’t get any better, so that only
leaves things with one direction to go.
“Are you nervous?” he asks. His voice brushes
across my mouth, and I slide my tongue over my
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bottom lip, convinced that I could taste his words
if I tried.
I nod, and his eyes soften with his smile.
“Me, too,” he whispers. He squeezes my hands
tighter and then lays his head across my bare
chest. I can feel the rhythm of his body rise and
fall against mine with every tense breath. His en-
tire body sighs, and one by one, each muscle be-
gins to relax. His hands are still, and he’s not ex-
ploring my body or listening to me sing or having
me tell him I love him.
He’s still, because he’s listening to me.
He’s listening to the beat of my heart.
His head lifts off my chest in one swift motion
as he locks eyes with mine. Whatever realization
he’s just had causes his gaze to pierce mine with
excitement.
“Do you have earplugs?” he says.
Earplugs?
I know the confusion can be seen in my ex-
pression. I nod anyway and point to the night-
stand. He leans over me, opens the drawer, and
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feels around inside. When he finds them, he
lowers himself beside me again, then places them
in the palm of my hand. He motions for me to put
them in my ears.
“Why?”
He smiles and kisses me, then trails his lips to
my ear. “I want you to hear me love you.”
I look down at the earplugs, then back up at
him questioningly. “How can I hear you if I’m
wearing these?”
He shakes his head, then places his hands over
my ears. “Not here,” he says. He moves a hand to
my chest. “I want you to hear me from right
here.”
That’s all the explanation I need. I quickly put
the earplugs in, then adjust my head on my pil-
low. All the noise around me slowly fades away.
I wasn’t aware of all the sounds I was taking in
until they no longer run through my head. I don’t
hear the clock ticking anymore. I no longer hear
the usual activity outside my window. I can’t
hear the sheets moving beneath us or the pillow
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under my head or the bed when he shifts his
weight.
I hear nothing.
He grabs my hand and opens up my palm, then
turns my hand around and places it over my
heart. Once my palm is flush against my heart, he
reaches to my face and brushes his hand over my
eyes, closing them. He scoots himself away from
me until he’s no longer touching any part of me.
He becomes still, and I no longer feel him
moving next to me.
It’s quiet.
It’s dark.
I hear absolutely nothing. I’m not sure this is
working out the way he imagined.
I hear nothing but complete silence. I hear
what Ridge hears every moment of his life. The
only thing I’m aware of is my own heartbeat and
nothing else. Nothing at all.
Wait.
My heartbeat.
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I open my eyes and look at him. He’s several
inches away from me on the bed, smiling. He
knows I hear it. He smiles softly, then pulls my
hand away from my heart and places it against
his chest. Tears begin to well in my eyes. I have
no idea how or if I even deserve him, but there’s
one thing I know for sure. As long as he’s a part
of it, I’ll never live a life of mediocrity. My life
with Ridge will be nothing short of remarkable.
He rolls on top of me and lowers his cheek to
mine, holding completely still for several long
seconds.
I can’t hear his breaths, but I feel them as they
fall against my neck.
I can’t hear his movements, but I feel him
when he begins making the softest, most subtle
shifts against me.
Our hands are still locked between us, so I fo-
cus on the beat of his heart, drumming against
my palm.
Beat, beat, pause.
Beat, beat, pause.
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Beat, beat, pause.
I can feel my entire body relaxing beneath him
while he continues to make the subtlest of move-
ments against me. He presses his hips into mine
for two seconds, then relaxes and pulls back for a
brief second before repeating the motion. He re-
peats this movement several times, and I can feel
my need for him growing with each rhythmic
movement against me.
The more my desire builds, the more impatient
I become. I want to feel his mouth on mine. I
want to feel his hands all over me. I want to feel
him push inside me and make me his completely.
The more I think about what I want from him,
the more responsive I become to the subtle shifts
of his weight against me. The more responsive I
become, the faster our hearts race against the
palms of our hands.
Beat, beat, pause.
Beatbeat, pause.
Beatbeat pause.
Beatbeat pause.
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The faster our hearts race, the quicker his
rhythm becomes, matching each beat of my heart
movement for movement.
I gasp.
He’s moving to the sound of my heart.
I wrap my free arm around his neck and focus
on his heartbeat, instantly aware that our hearts
are perfectly in sync. I tighten my legs around his
waist and lift myself against him, wanting him to
make my heart beat even faster. He skims his lips
across my cheek until they’re flush against my
mouth, but he doesn’t kiss me. The silence
around me makes me even more aware of the
pattern of his breath falling against my skin. I fo-
cus on my palm against his chest and feel his
quick intake of air, seconds before I taste the
sweetness of his breath as he exhales, teasing my
mouth.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale, exhale.
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His rhythmic breathing becomes quicker when
his tongue slips inside my mouth, gently caress-
ing the tip of mine.
If I could hear, I’m positive I would have just
heard myself whimper. It’s becoming a habit
whenever he’s around.
I move my hand to the back of his head, need-
ing to taste more of him. I pull him to me with
such sudden urgency he moans into my mouth.
Feeling his moan without hearing it is probably
the most sensual thing I’ve ever experienced. His
voice as it passes through me does more than
hearing it ever could.
Ridge slides his hand away from my heart and
presses his forearms into the mattress on both
sides of my head. He boxes me in with his arms,
and I slide my hand away from his chest, needing
to grab hold of him with all my strength. What
little I have left, anyway.
I feel him pull farther back, and then, without
hesitation, he pushes inside me, claiming me,
filling me.
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I . . .
Can’t . . .
My heart.
Christ. He just silenced my heart, because I
can no longer feel it at all. The only thing I feel is him moving against me . . . away from me . . . inside of me . . . into me. I’m completely consumed
by him.
I keep my eyes closed and listen to him
without hearing a thing, experiencing him si-
lently, the same way he’s experiencing me. I soak
in every single beautiful thing about the smooth-
ness of his skin and the feel of his breath and the
taste of our moans, until it’s impossible to tell us
apart.
We continue to explore each other quietly,
finding all the parts of ourselves we’ve only been
able to imagine up to this point.
When my body begins to tense again, it’s not
at all because I’m nervous this time. I can sense
his muscles clenching beneath my hands, and I
grip his shoulders, ready to fall with him. He
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presses his cheek firmly to mine, and I feel him
groan against my neck, making two final, long
thrusts at the same second as I feel the moans es-
caping my throat.
He begins to tremble with his release but
somehow pulls his hand between us again and
presses it against my heart. He’s shaking against
me, and I’m doing my best to regain control of
my own shudders while he begins to slow him-
self down, once again to the rhythm of my heart.
His movements grow so soft and subtle I can
barely feel them through all the tears I’m crying.
I don’t even know why I’m crying, because this
is by far the most indescribable feeling that has
ever come over me.
Maybe that’s why I’m crying.
Ridge relaxes on top of me and brings his
mouth back to mine. He kisses me so softly and
for so long my tears eventually subside and are
replaced with complete silence, accompanied
only by the rhythm of our hearts.
Ridge
I close the bathroom door and return to her on the
bed. Her face is illuminated by the moonlight
pouring through the windows. Her mouth is
curled up into a soft smile as I lower myself
down beside her. I slide my arm beneath her
shoulders, then lay my head on her chest and
close my eyes.
I love the sound of her.
I love her. Everything about her. I love that she’s never judged me. I love that she understands me. I love that despite everything I’ve put
her heart through, she’s done nothing but support
my decisions, no matter how much they des-
troyed her at the time. I love her honesty. I love
her selflessness. Most of all, I love that I’m the
one who gets to love all these things about her.
“I love you,” I feel her say.
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I close my eyes and listen as she continues to
repeat the phrase again and again. I adjust my ear
until it’s directly over her heart, savoring every
single thing about her. Her smell, her touch, her
voice, her love.
I’ve never felt so much at once.
I’ve never needed to feel more.
I lift my head and look back down into her
eyes.
She’s a part of me now.
I’m a part of her.
I kiss her softly on the nose and mouth and
chin, then press my ear against her heart again.
For the first time in my life, I hear absolutely
everything.
Acknowledgments
So many people to thank and so few words to do
it in. First, not a single book I’ve started writing
would ever reach the end if it weren’t for those
who encourage me and give me feedback along
the way. In no particular order, these people de-
serve a huge thanks for always tagging along dur-
ing the writing process.
Christina Collie, Gloria Green, Autumn Hull,
Tammara Webber, Tracey-Garvis Graves, Karen
Lawson, Jamie McGuire, Abbi Glines, Marion
Archer, Mollie Harper, Vannoy Fite, Lin Reyn-
olds, Kaci Blue-Buckley, Pamela Carrion, Jenny
Aspinall, Sarah Hansen, Madison Seidler, Aestas,
Natasha Tomic, Kay Miles, Sali-Benbow Powers,
Vilma Gonzalez, Crystal Cobb, Dana Ferrell, the
ever-supportive Kathryn Perez, and everyone else
I’ve bugged along the way.
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Thank you to my girls of FP. There are no
words. Except these seventeen words, I guess.
Thank you, Joel and Julie Williams, for being
amazingly supportive.
Tarryn Fisher, for being my confidence and
also my reality check.
My husband and boys, for being the best four
men on the planet.
Elizabeth Gunderson and Carol Keith McWil-
liams for your feedback, knowledge, and support.
You are simply beautiful, and I couldn’t have
done it without either of you.
Jane Dystel and the entire Dystel & Goderich
team for their continued support.
Judith Curr, publisher of Atria Books, and her
team for going above and beyond their duties.
Your support is unmatched.
To my editor, Johanna Castillo. To say I was
nervous about delivering my first stand-alone to
you is an understatement. I should have known
better than to be nervous, because the two of us
make a great team. I am so lucky to have you.
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A HUGE thank-you to the Maybe Someday
team: Chris Peterson, Murphy Fennell, and
Stephanie Cohen. You guys rocked it.
And last, but definitely not least, Griffin
Peterson. Thank you. A million times thank you.
Your talent and work ethic can’t go unmentioned,
but your support and enthusiasm go above and
beyond. There isn’t even an emoji worthy
enough.
Oh, and to Dave and Pooh Bear, just for the
heck of it.
About the Author
Colleen Hoover is the number 1 New York Times
best-selling author of Slammed, Point of Retreat, Hopeless, This Girl, Losing Hope, and Finding Cinderella. Colleen lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. Please visit
www.ColleenHoover.com.