Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) (34 page)

“Shhh. Don’t cry. I love you, don’t cry,” I whispered, my lips near her ear, hand moving to her cheek.

She turned in my arms, tucking her head under my chin as her arms wound around my waist. Her breath was heavy, shuddering in through her nose, a sob racking through her chest as she tried to hold it in. And I held her while she cried, stroking her hair, waiting until she calmed.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a while.

“No. You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Rose. Nothing. Everything we’ve been through, these months … it’s my fault. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry, but you’ve already forgiven me for that. So I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to think about life without you. I just want to love you, and I want you to love me. I trust you, and I want you to trust me. And if you do, if you really do, then I believe we’ll always survive. We’ll always find a way through. Because there’s no one, Rose — not one person in the world who I could ever love like I love you.”

Her breath hitched, and she whispered the promise, “I will. I do.”

“Then
we
will. Always.”

It was a long time before we moved. I felt her breathing against me. My gaze rested on her hip, rising out of the water in a soft slope, like an island in the milky water, her ribs, the curve of her breast like the shore of a beach in an ocean. It wasn’t until the water had chilled that she turned and pressed her lips to my chest and reached for the plug. We stood and found towels, dried off in silence. She blew out the candles, and we found ourselves in the dark once again.

Rose took my hand and led me into her room, which looked as it always did — rumpled bed, dark other than the light next to her bed, small piles of black clothes like islands on the floor. She turned off the light as we slipped into her bed, towels discarded, legs still wet and sticking to the sheets as they searched for the other’s, winding together when found. She nestled into my chest, the warmth of her pressed against me.

My body was heavy, wishing for sleep, wanting to stay in the moment always. Rose, in my arms. Rose, mine. She was mine. I had always been hers.

I thought she was asleep, but she shifted, leaned back. I could see nothing but the deepest shades of blue, the glint of light on her eyes. My hand found her jaw, thumb grazed her lip, and she closed them against my skin, pressing a kiss to the pad. I angled her face, breathing in as I kissed her.

She came to me gently, gave herself to me softly. It had nothing to do with need, the way we touched. It was an exchange of hearts. It was a promise.

Her lips composed the sum of my world as my hand trailed down her chest, traced the soft curve of her breast, then down her ribs, over her hip, down her thigh as it hooked on mine. I gripped and pulled, bringing her body flush against me.

I dragged my hand around the back of her thigh and up until it found the warmth of her, until my finger was cradled in her. I trailed it up, then down — she stopped kissing me to sigh — then up again before slipping a finger inside, stretching the other so it grazed the sensitive spot. Every flex of my hand arched her back a more until her neck was long, stretched out in the darkness before me. I leaned in to lay a hot kiss on the skin offered to me.

“Patrick …” It was a whispered plea, a declaration, a prayer.

The moment I let her go, her hips swung into me, leg wrapped around my waist, and I met her with a long kiss. She rolled, pulling me with her, my hand on her hip as she spread her thighs, and I pressed against her, our lips only parting when I flexed, my forehead against hers, eyes closed as I filled her until her thighs trembled.

She was everywhere.

Her arms around my neck.
 

Her lips against mine.
 

Her legs around my waist.
 

My name riding her breath.

My heart beating her name.

My thoughts tumbled away from me with every thrust until it all fell away, and there was nothing except Rose.

Rose

WHEN THE MORNING CAME AND my mind began to stretch into awareness, I thought at first it had all been a dream. Maybe it was the fall and the last nine months had been a nightmare. Maybe it was a few days ago, before the fight, a fight that never happened.
 

But, no, it was real. The steady rise and fall of his chest was real. His arms around me, heavy and warm. The smile that showed a sliver of his perfect teeth when he woke. It was all real, and somehow we’d survived. We found a way through when my pride stood in our way, when I fought and pushed and denied him everything.

Emotion rolled through me again as the night before crawled its way through my memory, and he turned on the light, casting light and shadow across the room, across our bodies —his dark with ink and mine smooth and white.

I lay on his chest, chin on my hands as he propped his head and smiled with the smile he only gave to me.

“How did we do it?” I asked in wonder.

He seemed to know what I meant without needing an explanation. “There were a lot of things, I think, but in the end, it was us. Just us.”

“All this time, we’ve just been in our own way.”

He smirked. “Well, mostly you.”

I chuckled. “Yes, mostly me.”

He touched my face. “I should have gone after you sooner.”

“I wouldn’t have budged.”

“Maybe. But I still should have.”

My smile softened. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because I wanted to respect how you felt, what you asked of me. Because I didn’t think I deserved to be happy.”

“How could you think that?” I asked, heart aching.

He shook his head and swallowed. “I don’t think I’d ever been happy before I moved here. Met you, West, everyone. I just didn’t see it lasting, you know? It was a gift I cherished every day that I had it, knowing it’d be gone, eventually.”

“Patrick …”

But he smiled and cupped my cheek. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

I leaned into his hand.
 

His thumb shifted against my skin. “West said something that resonated. He said that I’ve fought for everything, fought my way through life, but I wasn’t fighting for you. I thought I was doing the right thing by doing what you asked, but I was wrong. Letting you go so easy denied everything I wanted.” He shook his head. “I don’t mean that I would have given up my respect for your wishes to get what I wanted, but I didn’t even try, Rose. I didn’t even try, not really, and I regret it. Because if I’d fought for you, we could have been here, where we are right now, a long time ago.”

I nodded as his hand slipped away from my face and to my arm, and I shifted to press a kiss into the soft skin of his chest. “But we’re here now. So, what should we do with our second chance?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “Care to share?”

But before he answered, he sat, smiling, wrapping his arms around my back to hold me to him until I was cradled in his arms, looking up at his beautiful face, full of so much adoration and love that I knew he’d make me happy forever, if I’d let him. And I would.
 

“This time,” he said, “we do it right.”

Rose

MUSIC PLAYED SOFTLY IN THE next room as I looked in the bathroom mirror, leaning in to slip my earring on. My palms were a little sweaty, and I smoothed my black dress down my thighs, stepping back to check myself out one last time.
 

I took a deep breath. This was it. I’d been working nonstop for the last three months to get to this moment — the opening of Wasted Words.

I’d arrived.

My lips curled into a smile, and I let the breath out, venting a bit of my nerves along with it.

I walked out of the bathroom with every intention of going into my room to grab my heels, but when I saw Patrick painting, I couldn’t help but stop and watch him.

We’d converted Lily’s old room into a studio just after he’d moved in, which was just after Ellie moved in with Max. If Ellie had been anyone but Ellie, I would have been worried, but not only was this exactly her modus operandi, but she and Max were good together. Happy. The two of them just made perfect sense, much like the rest of us.

Patrick sat on his stool in the center of the room where I found him so often. But rather than jeans and tee, which he usually wore, he was in suit pants and a white button-down, sleeves rolled up so he wouldn’t get paint on it, exposing the tattoos all over his forearms. The light was slipping away as dusk fell, painting the room in oranges and yellow, illuminating the white walls with fire. I watched his back as he painted, his shoulders, his head turned just at an angle, looking at the canvas like he could see something that wasn’t visible to me.
 

I leaned against the doorframe for a few minutes, the beauty of his movement captivating, the fluidity of every motion like that of a dancer. He turned to look back at me when I sighed contentedly.
 

Patrick smiled back and began cleaning the rest of his brushes. “How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough.”

He chuckled. “What time is it?”

I shrugged. “We’ve got a little time.”

“You can’t be late to your own party.”

“Why not? It’s mine, isn’t it?”

Patrick stood as he finished cleaning up and rolled down his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs as he made his way over to me. “You’ve been working all day, every day for this. Even today, you’ve been at the bar since seven this morning. Who would have thought you’d be willingly getting up so early every day?”

My smile stretched wider as he stepped into me, slipping his arms around my waist, smiling down at me. “Not me.”

“Me neither. I’m proud of you, Rosie. You did it.”

My arms wound around his neck. “I did it.”

“Even when it was hard.”

I nodded. “That was weirdly when it was the most fun.”

“Do you feel ready?”

My mind skipped down the to-do list that was now a constant part of my brain. “I think we’ve done everything we can do. The last few days have just been hammering down the tiniest of details, but everything else has been decided. When we started this — really started it — I couldn’t have imagined that I’d know this much. Like, I can put together an invoice in a snap. I can call a distributor and bitch them out when my shipment doesn’t get here on time.”

“As long as it’s not in China.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I don’t know how to argue in Mandarin yet. But Cam does. And thank God for her.”

“Cooper wasn’t kidding when he said he had experts.”

“I certainly didn’t expect a nerd girl genius in a flannel and a Hulk T-shirt, but that’s exactly what I got, and she’s perfect. And the store’s perfect. And everything’s kind of perfect.”

His smile pulled up at one corner, turning it into a little bit of a smirk. “It is kind of perfect, isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.” I nodded, really wanting to kiss him, but really
not
wanting to smear my lipstick all over my face, or worse — his. “Patrick?”

His eyes were on my lips like he wanted to kiss me too. “Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

My hands slipped down his chest and to his tie, and I fiddled with it, avoiding his eyes. “Everything. But mostly for coming back for me. For staying. For loving me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. You make it easy.”

“But I didn’t always.”

“No, but neither did I.”

“But we found a way,” I said. “And now, here we are. Are you scared?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Are you?”

I shook my head and looked up at him, meeting his eyes, eyes that burned like embers. “No. Not anymore. I love you. Even when we were apart, I loved you every minute of every lonely day. And I know I’ll always love you. No matter what happens.”

His hand found my cheek, slipped into my hair. “Then I’ll always be yours, Rose. Forever.”
 

And his lips brushed mine, the softest, gentlest of kisses, as if to seal the promise.

Within a half an hour, we were in a cab on our way to Wasted Words, getting there before everyone arrived. Nerves fluttered around in my ribcage, occasionally shooting through me in bursts, starting when I saw the sign to my bar, lit up in the twilight. Or when Cam rushed out and grabbed me, dragging me inside to approve the last minute shipment of liquor that had come in the eleventh hour. And when I saw the painting Patrick made for me hanging over the bar, right in the front where everyone would see it when they walked in.
 

He’d given it to me the day after Seth — a black, dripping and splattered watercolor rose at first glance, but it was also
me
. I could see myself in the negative space of the petals, my nose, my lashes, my lips and chin. It was the most beautiful, meaningful thing anyone had ever given to me.

I might have cried. A lot. It was perfect. He was perfect.

The last months had been everything I’d imagined. It was so easy, being with him. It always had been, but now, after everything we went through to find each other, now I knew. He said forever and meant it, and so did I.

I’d fight for him. We’d fight for each other.
 

Within an hour, we were greeting our friends. The music played — a real DJ with vinyl and everything — and I stood in my bar, surrounded by books and friends and love and happiness. And everything was exactly as it should be.

Patrick was at my arm all night as we made our way around the bar. All of our friends were there — the Habits gang, everyone from Tonic, Cooper’s socialite friends — the familiar faces making the night that much more meaningful. There were some less familiar people there too — book bloggers and publishers, editors and some indie writers we’d partnered with, plus my new staff.
 

But not Seth. He’d kept his promise to stay gone, though we all wondered about him. Worried about him. But Patrick had let him go, and for good this time. There was no going back.

The next day marked our grand opening, so the night wasn’t overly long, just a little bit of time to celebrate the end of the hard work. Some of us would need to be there early, definitely me, possibly puking, and definitely Cam, possibly holding back my hair. But just before the party was over, Cooper stepped up to the bar and rang the brass bell.