Page 97 of Fearlessly Us

Me

I’m here. I’ve been waiting to hear from her. Is she okay?

Maya

Physically she’s fine and there were no real surprises at her appointment, but she kind of shut down once the doctor explained everything.

Me

What does that mean, she shut down?

Maya

She barely said a word to the doctor and didn’t react to anything, and she hasn’t said much since. I wanted to take her back to my house, have a big girls’ night to say fuck the patriarchy and curse uteruses and bemoan the state of women’s healthcare and burn all the men in effigy.

As much as it pains me to say this, because I think a good man burning is always in order, that’s not what she needs right now.

She needs love and care and to be reminded by people who haven’t known her and loved her for her entire life that she’s perfect, just the way she is. I think what she needs is you.

Me

I have all of that for her. I swear I do. That and so much more.

Maya

I know you do. Take care of our girl, Drew.

Me

I will. Always.

Half an hour later, I’m wiping spotless countertops for the tenth time since I got Maya’s texts when I hear my front door open. Tossing down the dish towel I’m holding, I stride into the living room, my arms itching to get around my girl. To hold her and kiss her and tell her everything about her is my favorite thing.

But the second I lay eyes on Caitlin, I come to a screeching halt, my breath catching in my chest as I drink her in. Because this is not the woman I left at my kitchen table this morning with an iced latte, a laptop, a notebook, and four different pens, mumbling about trust documents and asshole clients.

No.

This woman is fucking radiant. Ethereal. Vibrating with a kind of burn it all down energy that makes my stomach swoop and my heart pound. Caitlin’s hair is tousled, cheeks flushed in a way that has nothing to do with the cold November day, gray eyes glittering silver with something I can’t pinpoint but that takes my breath away. She has a hand propped brazenly on her hip, her eyes narrowed in challenge as if she’s daring me to stop whatever is about to happen.

I wouldn’t.

I couldn’t.

My feet are frozen to the floor, my eyes glued to her. I would die if I looked away.

Caitlin doesn’t speak a single word, just watches me as she lets her jacket slide off her shoulders and drop to the floor along with the bag she’s carrying. Curling her hands in the bottom of her shirt, she pulls it off and it joins her jacket on the floor, followed by the deep-purple satin bra I watched her put on earlier today, vowing to take it off later with my teeth. Only I don’t. I can’t. All I can do is stand and watch as Caitlin reveals herself to me.

She kicks off her shoes hard enough that they hit the wall with a sharp thud and then slips open the button of her pants, her eyes never leaving mine. The only outward manifestation of anything other than absolute utter confidence is the slight shake of her hand as she pushes her pants down, taking her underwear with them, then kicking all the fabric away. I want to take that hand in mine, kiss her palm and her knuckles and every one of her fingers and tell her she doesn’t have to be nervous. Not now and not ever and especially not with me. But the words die in my throat as Caitlin rises to her full height, stripped bare before me.

In a deliberate gesture and with her eyes locked on mine, Caitlin drifts a hand over her stomach, touching each of her scars in turn and smoothing her palm over her belly, her chin wobbling slightly before she raises it defiantly, her mouth set in a stubborn line, and I can read her thoughts as if she’s speaking them out loud.

This is me.

This is who I am.

See me.

The space under my ribs aches, my heart cracking down the middle as I watch the woman I love more than my own life—the girl who is my moon and my stars and my whole entire sky—flay herself open, show me all of her and ask me to see her. To love her. To keep her safe.