Page 73 of Colt
“He gets that from you, I think.”
Colt glanced at me. “Maybe. Though I like to think his stubbornness comes from you.”
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Lil baby, you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever—” He stopped abruptly, his face going pale. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—that just slipped out.”
Lil baby.“It’s okay,” I said. “You don’t have to apologize for remembering.”
He turned back to the dishes, but his movements were slower now, more careful. “Sometimes I forget you don’t remember. You’re so much like you were before. The way you tilt your headwhen you’re thinking, the way you laugh at the boys’ jokes even when they’re not funny. It’s easy to slip back into old habits.”
“What other habits?”
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he didn’t look at me. “Wanting things I’ve got no right to anymore.” His voice had gone rough. “I have to remind myself of that. Constantly.”
I felt it before I understood it. “Colt—”
“I’m not saying this to pressure you.” He finally met my eyes. “I just want you to understand. To me, you’re still my wife. You’re still the woman I fell in love with all those years ago. That hasn’t changed just because you don’t remember.”
I set down the dish towel, my hands trembling slightly. “Graham told me how you were with me. Before. How you looked at me like I hung the moon.”
“I still do.” A sad smile crossed his face. “I’ll never stop.”
“I don’t know what to do with it. With how much you still feel. I keep looking at that photograph you left on my counter, trying to recognize myself in her.” I paused. “She looks so certain. And I’m here wishing I could give you back what she could.”
“I know.”
Colt dried his hands on a towel and turned to face me fully. “Can I show you something?”
I nodded, not sure what I was agreeing to.
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. From inside, he extracted a worn photograph—creased and faded from years of being carried.
He turned it over in his hands once before holding it out. “This isn’t the one I left with you last night. Same day, different moment.”
I took it carefully. A younger version of me in the same white dress, but laughing this time—mouth open, head half-turned, catching something the camera had almost missed. And Coltbeside me, not looking at whatever I was laughing at. Looking at me.
“I’ve had this one in my wallet ever since the day we got hitched.” His voice was even. “Couldn’t make myself box it up with the rest.”
He paused. “Small ceremony,” he said after a moment. “Just us, a couple of club brothers as witnesses. You didn’t want anything fancy. Said all you needed was me and a good kiss.”
He paused again. “You were so beautiful,” he said. “You are so beautiful. But that day… that day you glowed. I couldn’t believe you’d actually said yes. That someone like you wanted someone like me.”
“Someone like you?”
“A biker. A rough man with rough friends, and a rough life.” He shrugged. “You could have had anyone but you chose me.”
I touched the photo gently, tracing the smile on my younger face. “The one on my counter, she’s looking at the camera. This one, she doesn’t know she’s being photographed.”
“No,” Colt agreed. “That one’s just you.”
I stared at the girl in the photograph. Laughing. Unguarded. “Were we?” I asked. “Happy?”
“We were happy.” His voice cracked. “And then I lost you, and I spent seven years trying to convince myself I hated you because it hurt less than admitting how much I still loved you.”
The photograph blurred as tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t sure why I was crying—for the life I’d lost, for the man who’d spent years grieving me, for the boys who’d grown up without their father.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”
