Page 83 of Choosing Us

Ryan walks up behind me and pulls me back against him. He places a light kiss on the spot just below my ear on the side of my neck. “Thank you, Lo. Appreciate that.”

“Mmmmm.” I lean back into him, cozy and content in this very domestic evening. “Ryan?” I know what I want to say, but I can’t quite believe I’m about to take this leap of faith.

But I think he will catch me every time.

In fact, I know he will.

I turn to face him and wrap my arms around his middle, leaning back to look into his eyes.

“Yeah, baby?” He brushes a piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

“I … I love you.” The raw emotion threatens to release tears after saying those simple words. I didn’t grow up in a house where the word love was used, not in regard to relationships. My parents loved things, they loved status and possessions but none of the objects of their affection had a soul.

To admit this—and to do so first—is a huge risk for me. I also think it will somehow mean more to Ryan that I am saying it first because I’m showing him how much I trust him in taking this risk.

I’ve also almost blurted it three separate times, and I’d rather not have the first time I tell him to be an accidental word vomit.

His gray-blue eyes warm and he pulls me closer. “That is really fan-fucking-tastic news, Lo. Thank you for telling me that. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page.” He leans in and softly kisses my forehead before using his hand to angle my head back.

“Yeah?” I don’t mean for my voice to sound husky, but I’m barely in control of anything right now.

“Yeah, baby. I love you, Harlow Gisela Lane.” He kisses my right cheek, then my left one. “I love your heart, your kindness, your wittiness, your grace, oh, and I’m a big fan of your ass. Huge fan, in fact.”

I throw my head back and laugh. Of course, he would say something like that right now.

“So, nothing about my job, or the fact that I’m a doctor, or…”

Ryan shakes his head slowly. “No, none of that, Lo. It’s cool, and your job is awesome, but it’s not you. You … you are so much more than any of that.”

“Yeah? And what am I?” I whisper.

“Well, my favorite thing right now is the fact that you are mine, just as much as I am yours, Lo.”

“And is that a lot?”

“Oh, yeah, you basically own me heart and soul at this point, baby.” He leans in and presses his forehead to mine.

“It’s nice to know we’re on the same page,” I repeat his line from a moment ago, causing him to break out in a grin, showcasing his dimple, before angling my face and crashing his lips down on mine.

I get lost in our kiss until he lies me down on his bed. I barely noticed the man had picked me up and walked to his bedroom.

But that’s what happens when I’m in Ryan’s arms—I’m safe and protected. I’m treasured and adored.

And for maybe the first time in my entire life, I’m home.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

There are so many tasks that are more worth my time than attending this meeting right now, but if I focus on that, my blood pressure will spike, then I’ll be pissed off and feel like shit all at once.

It seems to be the common effect of listening to the chairman of our hospital’s board talk. I fail to comprehend how no one else is seeing through his bullshit, but it’s very clear I’m in the minority by not belonging to his fan club.

I stare at the report that only confirms what I suspected—if we add additional specialties to the hospital, we are increasing not only overhead in salaries and capital investments to get the departments up and running, but also our liability jumps dramatically. I think it will also put the culture our small hospital is known for at significant risk because of how much we would need to scale hiring to add these specialties. It’s seven o’clock at night, and I would be even more annoyed if Harlow was waiting for me at home, but she’s on a case in St. Louis right now. I grab my phone to check in with her, but my screen stays blank when I press the side button.

Great. More of this bullshit.

We had to add a new communication app that Calvin convinced everyone would help with productivity, but the reality is all my phone has done since it was installed is repeatedly crash. It’s not lost on me that no other members of company leadership are having issues with the app either.

Tossing the paperweight that should be my phone on my desk, I run a hand down my face. I lean back in my chair and let the stubble of my five o'clock shadow under my fingertips ground me slightly as a large gust of frustration escapes me. Sitting here and staring up at the ceiling isn't going to bring any resolution—I see the writing on the wall. I can fight for what I think is right, or I can take Jack up on his offer and really consider working for my older brother.