Page 143 of What Remains

My breath catches, and I keep it captive for a few seconds before letting it go. “How long have you known?” I manage out around strangled emotions.

“When did I finally listen to my heart and accept it all? The minute I thought I might lose you again on that island. But that was just the catalyst for my brain to get on board. I would say I knew a long time ago. Probably around the time I introduced you to that Richard Marx song.”

The chorus from “Right Here Waiting” hums in my mind and fills every crack and crevice of past pain, replacing it with something else. Love. “Why then?”

His mouth crooks into a smile. “The night before the song, I was carrying you to bed after you passed out on the couch next to me, and I . . .” His eyes become slits as he peers at me, and he takes a beat, pausing. “I was staring down at your face as I held you in my arms and my heart started to hurt in a way I can’t put into words.”

“Hurt because?”

He exhales deeply. “Because I realized you already had my heart, but I didn’t think you and I could ever be together. So the pain of knowing that and feeling the way I did was unbearable.”

My God. I felt that way, too. Does that mean . . .?

“I know I want to give you my heart,” I finally admit, letting more and more of my walls down. “Wrap it in silk and watch you open it like a gift and see what you do with it, but I’m still just⁠—”

“Scared,” he finishes for me, brows stitching together as he works his hands from my hair to the sides of my arms, gripping gently.

“Why are you so understanding?” My lips pull to the side. “So perfect?”

“Far from perfect.” He studies my lips like he’s memorizing the shape they take when I watch him. “I have issues.”

“Like?” I fix my hands to his waist.

A sobering sigh leaves his mouth. “For starters, I enjoyed killing those men on the island. That feels issue-y.” His eyes tighten on me beneath thick brows. “And I’m an overthinker and that can be problematic sometimes. I overthought my way into almost losing you for good by leaving.”

I’m about to remind him I forgive him, but he keeps going.

“And I’m scared that my being older might hold you back one day. That’s the last thing in the world I ever want to do to you.” He frowns, eyes falling between our bodies. “Then there’s the big problem. I’m selfish.”

“No you’re not,” I blurt out.

“I am.” His dark irises pierce mine as he admits, “Because when I die, I don’t want you to find someone else after me.” He lifts one shoulder. “I’ll have to haunt any guy who so much as checks you out. Extra poltergeist action if they give you their number. I’m not like these other guys who want their wives to move on and be happy if they die.”

Wife? I blink in shock.

He cups my chin and angles his head, closing in on my mouth, but he holds the kiss back. “So yeah, you’ll have to be stuck with me even if I’m dead. I’ll haunt the hell out of you so you’re never truly without me.”

Tears fill my eyes and one breaks free. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

His brows rise, like he misheard me.

“And if you don’t think I’ll haunt your arse, too, then you don’t know me at all.” I push a laugh through my tears, sniffling.

And wait a minute . . . did I imply back that I want forever with him without hesitation? No overthinking. My firewalls came down, and I⁠—

A hard Dad-like rap at the door kills my train of thought, or my chance to talk more about his “wife” comment.

Time’s up.

“Gwen?” Dad’s voice is urgent. Not good.

Easton steps aside and subtly adjusts himself while I clean the tears from my cheeks with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Good?” he mouths, hand on the doorknob.

Just barely, but I nod.

He opens up, and Dad’s large frame fills the doorway, mobile in his hand. Someone had to have given him that. “We have incoming.” Dad’s gaze bounces between us, panic set deep in his brow. “Natasha called Gideon’s inside man. There are three SWAT vehicles en route. We don’t know if they’re legit or posing as Swiss officers.”