Page 154 of Rush
"Promise?"
"Yeah, I promise."
We lie there in the quiet and I think about everything that's happened.
My dad showing up, confronting Rush, then coming here to apologize.
The pressure from the club, from Ciara, from everyone watching.
But right now, with Rush beside me and my dad finally starting to understand, things feel steadier.
Not perfect, not resolved.
But steady.
"What are you thinking?" Rush asks.
"That my dad hasn't fully backed off and Ciara's still a problem and the club's still watching."
"But?"
"But for tonight, I'm not going to worry about it. I'm just going to be here with you."
He pulls me on top of him and I settle against his chest.
"I like that plan," he says.
"Good, because I'm not moving for the rest of the night."
"Fine by me."
I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat, steady and strong. The storm hasn't passed. I know that. My dad's still protective, still threatening consequences if Rush hurts me. Ciara's still hovering, still making her moves. The club's still watching to see if we crash and burn. But I'm done anticipating the next fight. I'm done worrying about what could go wrong. Right now, in this moment, I'm choosing to be present, to enjoy the fact that Rush is here, that he chose me, that we're figuring this out together.
Everything else can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, this is enough.
20
EVERLY
Two Months Later
I wake up to Rush's arm around my waist and sunlight streaming through the windows. We're at my flat. We've been spending most nights here because it's quieter than the clubhouse. Rush is still asleep, his face relaxed in a way it never is when he's awake. I turn carefully in his arms and just look at him.
It’s been two months since my dad flew out here and confronted him, two months since things shifted from uncertain to solid. We're good now, really good. Rush has stopped waiting for me to leave, stopped bracing for impact every time things get hard, and I've stopped waiting for him to run. We've found our rhythm, our normal.
He kisses me goodbye every morning before heading to the clubhouse, I text him updates from the lab, we have dinner together most nights. It's domestic and comfortable and exactly what I wanted.
His eyes open and he smiles when he sees me watching him.
"Morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning."
"You're staring."
"You're worth staring at."
He pulls me closer and kisses me, slow and lazy.
