Page 106 of Heal Me, Love Me

“If this thing keeps me out for six months because I got impatient, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he said. “I totally get it. It was just nice thinking about you being here.”

“It was, but I think that if I showed up right now, I’d spend every day watching you train while I sat on the sidelines, feeling sorry for myself.”

“I hate this,” he replied.

“What part?”

“Everything,” he sighed. “You’re hurt, and I’m not there to help you. I miss you so damn much.”

His words made it harder to pretend the distance wasn’t getting to both of us.

“I miss you too.”

“Thanksgiving’s less than two weeks away.”

“Eleven days,” I corrected.

A laugh slipped out of him. “You keeping track now?”

“Maybe. You did say you wanted to kiss my shoulder, so I have something to look forward to.”

“There’ll definitely be kissing.”

“With a promise like that, you’d better not cancel.”

The days until Thanksgiving were going to suck—no point pretending otherwise. I’d be recovering while Rowan kept training, but I knew none of it would matter once we were in the same space.

“My ticket is non-refundable, so you can count on those kisses.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either, baby.”

18

Rowan

Mom and Dadwere waiting in the pickup lane when I stepped out of the terminal the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. Dad was behind the wheel, and Mom sat beside him, watching the doors. I barely had time to lift my hand to wave when the back door opened, and Keaton climbed out.

His shoulder-length hair was down, tucked behind one ear with a few strands falling near his face, and he wore a zip-up hoodie over a white T-shirt, black joggers, and tennis shoes.

For a few seconds, I only saw him.

Then I noticed the sling.

Seeing it in person was different. On video, he could joke about it and make me worry less, but watching him in real life, I could see the way he stepped away from the SUV, careful with one side of his body even while he smiled at me.

“Hey, baby.” I let the bag slide from my shoulder to my hand as I reached him. His good arm wrapped around my waist, and I pulled him close enough to feel him without crowding his injured side.

“Missed you,” he whispered against my neck.

I closed my eyes and held him tighter. “Missed you too.”

The airport moved around us, with rolling suitcases, idling cars, and other people trying to get home for Thanksgiving, but none of it mattered while he was against me. When he stepped back, Dad reached for the duffel still in my hand.

“Good to see you, son.”