Knowing I'm not going to get through to Greyson tonight – if ever – I push my feelings about his decision aside and point out how late it is, suggesting we go to bed. While he locks up the house and sets the security alarm, I make sure Hercules is comfortable in his bed by the fireplace, tucking him under his favorite fleece blanket and giving him plenty of goodnight kisses, knowing he'll end up in our bed in a few hours.
He always does.
While Greyson is in the shower, I brush my teeth with the toothbrush he got for me – the one he said will remain in the toothbrush holder permanently – and wash my face. I strip out of my clothes and slip a silk, forest-green nightgown over my head, and as I move around the room, I stop and look at all the picture frames that decorate the walls, shelves, and nightstands. There are a bunch of him and I, mostly from the days of us growing up and when we were dating in high school, and a few from our trip to Los Angeles – us on the red carpet at the ESPYS and standing in front of Cinderella's castle with our mouse ears on at Disney Land. There are pictures with his family – his parents, his brother Cole and sister-in-law Lydia at their wedding, and a couple with his niece and nephew.
I run my fingers over the photo of our high school baseball team, mid-celebration the day they won the state championship when we were seniors. I'll remember that day for the rest of my life. I smile when I see pictures of Greyson, Mitchell, and Wyatt at a Dawson's Beach bonfire when we were kids, perfectly placed next to one of them from this summer's Fourth of July bonfire. There are photos of him playing ball, and since he's not wearing a St. Louis Cardinals jersey, I'm assuming they're from his days in the minors, and as I lean closer, I realize I don't recognize any of the guy's he's with – except for Bodie and Kutter.
Kutter. How am I going to tell Greyson about what happened tonight? A part of me is wondering if I even should. What are the odds I'll see him again? Since Greyson isn't taking the job with the Cubs and moving to Chicago, the chances of us running into each other are rare. Kutter lives in Illinois during the season, and when it's over, he goes back to California where he grew up. I doubt he passes through our small-town often – if ever. I most likely won't see him again until Greyson and my wedding day. Then again, do I want him there, making me feel uncomfortable during a time that's supposed to be so important for us?
Our wedding day? Okay, now I'm just getting ahead of myself.
"Slow your ass down, Delaney," I tell myself.
I pull back the heavy, goose-down comforter and slip underneath the cool sheets. It's late, but I always text my mother goodnight when I'm not home. She texts back almost immediately, and a loud cackle bursts out of me when I see she sent an eggplant and a raincoat emoji.
"What's so funny?" Greyson asks as he comes into the bedroom.
He's fresh out of the shower and looking especially yummy in nothing but a pair of tight, black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. His tan, sculpted chest glistens with droplets of water and his thick, chocolate-brown hair is messy from being towel-dried, with wet tendrils falling over his forehead. The muscles in his back flex as he holds the clothes he wore tonight over his head and tosses them across the room like a basketball, cupping his hands around his mouth and exhaling when they land directly in the hamper, mimicking that of a raucous crowd of fans. My eyes travel down his body and I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth as I watch his ridiculously tight abdominals flex when he yawns and stretches his arms above his head.
He's flawless – almost like I drew a picture of the perfect physical specimen, and he somehow became real.
"Babe...hello?" he asks, ending my ogling.
"What? Oh...uh, nothing." My voice is hoarse and thick with desire. "I just texted my mom to say goodnight and she sent back an eggplant and a raincoat emoji."
He crosses the bedroom and checks the lock on the French doors that lead out to the balcony before he pulls the curtains closed.
"I don't get it."
I laugh and set my phone down on the nightstand next to me. "Think about it. An eggplant. A raincoat." He stands at the end of the bed and gawks at me, confusion etched on his face. "Geez. Can you keep up, please? A penis and a condom. It's her way of telling us to use protection."
"Oh really?" A playful smirk lifts the corner of his mouth and he arches an eyebrow. "So, your mom knows how irresistible you find me?"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Fabio," I tease. "I'm pretty sure it has to do with the fact that you announced to me in my kitchen, while my mother was in the same room might I add, that you couldn't wait to get me naked."
Cool air seeps under the sheets as he lifts the comforter and lays down next to me. The scent of his body wash invades my senses – warm and woody, with notes of eucalyptus and orange. It's a smell I can live with for the rest of my life, and one I'm becoming accustomed to.
"Well, baby..." He tucks his pillow under his head and turns toward me. "I guess the cat's outta the bag."
I move his hair off his forehead with the tip of my finger. "Guess so."
He lifts his head and rests it on his hand. "Did you notice I made room for you in the closet?"
"You did?"
"I did. I also cleared out a couple of drawers for you."
"That was very sweet," I say. Sliding down my pillow until I'm flat on my back, I roll onto my side so I'm facing him and wrap my hand around the back of his neck, brushing the tip of my nose against his before I press my lips to his in a hungry but fleeting kiss. "But if you think half of your closet and a couple of drawers are going to be enough, you've severely underestimated the size of my wardrobe."
"Is that so?"
"Definitely. I may need you to build me an entire walk-in closet."
"I can do that." He tucks my hair behind my ear. "The house has plenty of rooms. I can turn one of them into a closet, with a long clothing rack and wall-to-wall shelves for your massive shoe collection."
My Sex and the City obsessed, fashion-loving heart practically bursts with excitement.
"Like Big did for Carrie?" I ask.
"I have no idea what that means, or who Big and Carrie are, but sure. Baby wants, baby gets. And speaking of baby gets..." He leans over his side of the bed, and when he comes back, he has a gift bag in his hands. "For you."
"What is it?"
"You're gonna have to open it to find out."
I sit up and enthusiastically take the bag from his hands, and when I tear through the tissue paper and pull out what's inside, a happy, appreciative smile spreads across my face. Inside is a black with white writing, Calvin Klein bra and panty set. It matches the pair of boxer briefs he's wearing.
"Now we match," he says, excitedly.
"This is awesome, Grey. I love it." I cup his chin in my hand and pull him in for another kiss. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
My eyes study his solid frame, stopping on the snug briefs that are resting low on his hips. The CK logo on the waistband brings me back to a time when I couldn't walk through Times Square, or a bodega without seeing his underwear ads on a billboard or back cover of a magazine. It was a delicious form of torture I couldn't escape from.
"So, did you get a lifetime supply of underwear, or something?"
He tilts his head, resting it on his shoulder, and smiles. "Nah. I used to get pairs for free, and they'd give me new merchandise before it was out in stores, but that was only when I was modeling for them. I haven't heard from them in years."
"I used to see your ads everywhere. Magazine covers. Bus stop windows. Huge billboards above Times Square. Nico's spank bank drawer."
"Damn. I made the spank bank drawer?" He laughs when I purse my lips and nod. "I'm flattered."
"Oh, shut up."
"That's a fucking flex." He lays on his back, pulling me toward him until I'm practically laying on top of him. "Nico obviously loved my ads. What did you think?"
"You looked...good."
"Good? I looked good?" he asks.
"Yeah. Good." I place my hands on his chest and rest my chin on top of them. "If I'm being honest, it was kind of weird."
"What do you mean?"
"It sounds stupid now, but it was strange seeing you on a billboard in nothing but your underwear. I mean, it's you. We grew up together. We were best friends, and then you were my boyfriend, and I was the only one seeing you in your underwear. Only girl, anyway. Then, you weren't my boyfriend anymore, and before I knew it, you'd become this huge celebrity, and I was seeing you in your underwear around every corner. Add on top of that, the few times I assisted Nico on a fashion show, I had to listen to the models who hadn't been with you talk about what they'd do to a certain appendage of yours, and the ones that had been with you, what they did do to that appendage." I lift my eyes to his and shrug. "That's what I mean when I say it was kind of weird."
His brow furrows, his eyes grow sad, and he twists a lock of my hair around the tip of his finger. "I'm sorry. I was a mess back then. I'm still a mess."
"You're not a mess. You're just...still figuring it out. We both are." I turn my head and rest my cheek on his chest, and even though we're both exhausted, and I know right now isn't the time, I can't get something Kutter said out of my mind. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"You know you can."
"What's a cleat chaser?"
"Uh..." His laugh vibrates in his chest. "It's a nickname for girls who sleep around with baseball players. Every sport has them. Football has jersey chasers. Hockey has puck bunnies. Basketball has gutter groupies, and baseball has cleat chasers. I haven't heard that term since I stopped playing. Come to think of it, where did you hear that?"
"Oh, nowhere really. I've just heard it before and was curious."
I play it off like it's not a big deal – like I haven't been thinking about it since Kutter called me one at the bar – but by the way his body tenses, I don't think I'm doing a very good job.
"Babe, where did you hear the term cleat chaser?" he asks again.
I know the right thing to do is tell Greyson about the things Kutter said to me at the bar, and how uncomfortable he made me feel from the second we met. He knows Kutter outed him to me about Chicago and his job offer, but he doesn't know how far he took it. He doesn't know how his words and accusations took me right back to being that weak little girl that was crying in the bathroom of Manhattan Mocha after her husband suddenly ended their marriage.
I'm not afraid to be honest with him – I didn't do anything wrong – but I am afraid of how Greyson is going to react, and I'm not sure if it's going to be me or Kutter that he's angry with. I know he loves me, and with love comes trust, but I can't help but replay the words from tonight – He's never going to trust you after what you did to him. Not completely anyway. He was fucked up for a long time because of it, and if you want me to be honest, I'm shocked he even gave you the time of day, let alone a second chance.
I roll off him and sit up, pressing my back against the headboard. "Okay, I have to tell you something."
"I think that's obvious."
"Before I do, I need you to promise you'll listen to the whole story before reacting."
He stiffens as he pushes himself to sit up and I see the muscles in his jaw tighten. "Delaney, what's going on?"
"Promise me."
"Yeah, okay. I promise. Now tell me what's wrong," he demands. "Please."
"Alright, um..." I brush my fingers through my hair and sigh. "Tonight, when you and Bodie went to the bathroom and I was by myself with Kutter, he kind of tore into me – verbally."
"Tore into you verbally? What does that – I don't understand what that means. What did he say?"
"He started off by asking what was going on between us, and when I asked him what he meant, he asked if we were a couple, just friends, or if you were just fucking me when it's convenient for you." His eyes widen. "His words not mine. I told him to mind his business, but instead, he proceeded to tell me about how popular you were with your female fans, that you were a huge player and practically had a girl on stand-by in every city you went to."
"Why would he say that? It's not even true."
I shrug. "I don't know. To upset me? To make me doubt your intentions? Your loyalty?"
"Did he say anything else?"
"He suggested I don't get my hopes up that things with you and I are going to work out because you're never going to completely trust me after what I did to you. He said he knew all about what happened between us and that you were fucked up for a long time because of it, and that he's shocked you gave me a second chance. I pointed out that it was clear he didn't like me, and he said he didn't like me or trust me. Then he called me a cleat chaser and said the only reason I'm with you now is because Will didn't want me."
"Is that everything?" His voice is low and composed, but thick with anger. My eyes drop to his hands, and I watch as he balls the sheets in his fists, breathing heavily through his nose. I can tell he's trying his best to stay calm. "Is there anything you might have forgotten?"
"Other than him telling me not to bother saying anything to you because you'd never believe me over him? No. That's everything."
"So why tell me, then?"
My heart drops at his question, and his cold tone of voice, but as soon as it drops, it begins to race uncontrollably. I can't tell if he's angry with me, angry with Kutter, or just angry.
"Because we promised not to keep secrets from each other anymore, and because I wanted you to hear about it from me, not from Kutter. The last thing I want is for you to be sitting in a bar with him someday and have him tell you some made up version of how our conversation went down. I want you to hear the truth."
I've seen every emotion from Greyson. I've seen sweet and docile, argumentative but playful and understanding, to a rage so intense he's a little scary, and everything in between, but I don't think I've ever seen him angry to the point where he can't speak. So angry he's barely showing any emotion at all. Not when I told him I was going to New York instead of to Florida with him, or the day he fought with Will, or the night I confronted him and made him tell me the truth about his father's diagnosis, and he nearly took my head off when he threw an empty bottle in my direction.
His knuckles are white from clenching his fists so hard. His jaw is tight and his face is red from suppressed rage. I'm afraid if I touch him he'll snap.
"Grey –"
"Give me a minute," he says, his voice a whisper. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm really trying to do what you asked and not react. I'm trying my best to stay calm, so please, give me a minute."
"Okay," I say. Time to process is the least I can give him right now. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you right away."
His eyes fly open. "Why didn't you?"
"Because you were with your friends, and you were so happy to see them. I didn't want to ruin that for you."
"You don't need to baby me, Del. I'm not blind to the kind of guy Kutter is. He's always been an ass. He's an ass to fans, an ass to opposing players, and he's especially an ass to women. I just didn't think he'd be an ass to you too."
"If he's so horrible why are you friends with him?"
"Because when I got to Double-A he'd already been there for six months. I didn't know anyone and I was younger than most of the guys. Kutter took me under his wing and made sure I was included. He's never done anything to me personally, so I never had to reason to dislike him. Until now, that is."
He yanks the sheet away from his body and stands up, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm calling Kutter."
"No!" I shout. I tuck my legs under me and rise to my knees, reaching for the phone in his hand, but he's an athlete so he easily dodges my grab. "You promised you wouldn't react!"
"You said not until you told me the whole story. Is that the whole story?" I nod. "Then I'm reacting, and that means I'm calling him."
"Okay. I get that, but don't call him right now. Give yourself time to cool off or you'll say things to him you don't mean. I didn't tell you so you could call him in the middle of the night like a lunatic."
He stares at me for a few seconds before he tosses his phone on the bed and shoves his fingers through his hair, and when he sighs, I know he's starting to calm down.
"Well..." He drags his hand down his jaw. "You know everything he said isn't true, don't you? I do trust you. With my whole heart."
"Yeah," I say, but my voice is meek.
I know none of it's true, but I couldn't help but feel the sting of Kutter's words when I heard them. It was like he could see into my mind and knew exactly what to say to break me down – like he knew my biggest insecurity is trust.
"Is that why you were acting so weird at the bar? While Bodie and I were playing pool, it was like you were somewhere else, but when we were saying goodbye, you were clinging to me like you were afraid I was gonna disappear."
I nod. "I just...I felt really uncomfortable around him. You make me feel safe, and after everything he said, and the way he was acting, that's what I needed. I know I should have told you when we got in the car, or when we got home, but I was too concerned with the fact that I thought you were moving to Chicago. Once you said you weren't, that's all that mattered. You're all I cared about in that moment."
Greyson huffs as he sits down on the bed and rests his elbows on his knees, dropping his head into his hands. He rubs them up and down his face furiously, but when he looks at me, his eyes are glassy.
"I'm so sorry," he says.
"For what?"
"I should have known something was wrong. I mean, I thought you were a little off when I came back from the bathroom, but I just thought you were tired. I should have sensed you were uncomfortable. I'm so sorry I didn't protect you."
"Hey, look at me." I crawl toward him and cup his jaw. "I'm fine. I promise. Yeah, his words hurt, but at the end of the day they're just words. Stick and stones, you know? And if you think you didn't protect me – that you don't protect me always – you're wrong. I'm here with you now. I'm safe."
He presses his forehead against mine and exhales so heavily, it feels like he's been holding it in since I returned to South Grove, or maybe since we broke up ten years ago.
"Do you know the first time I realized I was in love with you?"
"What?" I ask.
He pulls away and takes my face in his warm hands, gently gliding the pads of his thumbs across my cheekbones. "It was the night of my grandfather's funeral the summer before ninth grade. I'm pretty sure I was in love with you way before that, but that was the night I admitted it to myself. I'd been so upset all day, but I was trying to hold it together for my mom. You were by my side the whole day. You never left, and you held my hand throughout the entire service - even when they were too sweaty, and we should have let go. When I showed up to your house later that night, I cried for the first time, and you let me. You didn't ask questions, you didn't tell me to calm down, you just held me and let me get it out, and once I calmed down, you still didn't say anything. You just put on Wedding Crashers because you know that movie makes me laugh and you wanted to cheer me up." He leans in and places a slow, tantalizing kiss on my lips, and when he pulls away, every nerve in my body is humming. "And I've loved you every minute of every day since that night. Never, ever doubt that."
"I love you, too," I whisper.
"I was lucky to be your first love, and I know I'm not your only, but I plan on being your last."
I tilt my head up and he captures my mouth with his. The kiss is slow and breathtaking, with soft lips and teasing bites, but when his warm tongue delves past my lips and glides against mine, I crawl into his lap and straddle him, needing more to feed my craving. A strangled sigh escapes him as I nip at his lower lip and kiss my way up his stubbled jaw, and when I reach his ear, I tug on his lobe with my teeth.
"I want you to fuck me like I'm yours," I breathe into his ear.
I hear him suck in a breath, and suddenly his hand is around my throat, gripping lightly. He pushes me back, his thumb brushing over the pulse point in my neck – and when he smirks I know it's because he can feel the way it's throbbing. His eyes search mine, for what I'm not exactly sure, but the depth of love I see in them is all I need. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a hazy state of longing.
"Delaney," he moans, a sound of honest appreciation. "You are mine."
"Prove it."
Our silent dance of desire lasts until he grunts, "Baby wants, baby gets," and crashes his lips to mine.
His kiss is everything I see in his eyes, and feel in his touch; hunger, passion, raging need and an urgency I haven't felt from a man since, well...him. I have no choice but to lean into him and let him take control. Of the kiss. Of my body. Of where this is going. Of me.
"I'm gonna give you what you want, but first, you're gonna give me something I want." He wraps his arm around my waist, holding me tight as he moves up the bed, stopping when his head meets the pillows. His fingers grip my hips tightly, and I squeal as he slides me forward until I'm hovering over his face. "Sit."
All the color drains from my face. "What?"
"Sit down, baby. On my face."
"But I don't – I can't – what if you..." I'm not as sexually experienced as he is, so to say this is brand new territory for me is the understatement of the century. What if I do it wrong and he doesn't enjoy it, or worse, I suffocate him? "I'm afraid you won't be able to breathe."
He chuckles. "Trust me when I say I'll be perfectly fine."
So, he's done this before. Awesome.
My heart pounds. My pulse races. I feel my cheeks heat with bashfulness. I'm nervous and I don't know why. It's me and Greyson. We've been intimate hundreds of times. We've done it all and then some, so why am I acting like some prude who's never had a guy go down on her?
"Take off your panties, Delaney," he says, his voice stern, but not pushy.
"Okay." One word. It's all I say, then the need and desire simmering between us ignites into an explosive wildfire where kisses are rough, touches are fiery, and nervousness and caution are consumed by unrestrained lust and reckless abandon.
I stand up on the bed – keeping one foot on each side of him – and slide my black lace panties down my legs, holding onto the headboard as I pull them over my feet, and as soon as I'm hovering over him again, he slides my nightgown up my sides, bunching it in his fingers, and covers me with his mouth. It's warm and wet, and his persistent tongue works every inch of me, gliding up my slit and twirling around my clit – fast, then slow, then fast again. My head falls back when his hands slink under my nightgown. He grips my ass, squeezing roughly, and sucks me into his mouth so hard I have to grab the headboard to keep from collapsing on top of him. I cry out and arch my back, unable to stop myself from grinding against his face, loving the way his stubble scratches against my sensitive skin. He's eating me like a starved man enjoying his first meal.
Sweet Jesus, did he take a class on this?
"Say you're mine," he says. Demands.
I look down and he's staring up at me, a yearning so carnal in his green eyes it's enough to make me lightheaded.
"I'm yours," I say. "Forever."
My orgasm is quickly approaching, threatening to pour over me like rain, but this isn't the way I want it to happen. I want him inside of me when I give in to the delectable pleasure I know is about to overtake me.
I rip his hands from my body and lift my nightgown over my head, throwing it on the floor beside the bed. Without a word, I pull myself away from him and lean down, crushing his lips with mine. I love when I taste myself on him. His hands run up and down my sides, fingers skimming the edges of my breast and tracing their way across my chest and over my nipples. They harden instantly as his calloused thumbs rub circles over them – teasing and pleasuring – all while his tongue launches anther assault with a vigor that only makes me want him more.
I yank his boxer briefs down his legs, and as I crawl up his body, I grip his bulging erection in my hand, sliding it up and down a few times before I line him up with my soaking wet center. I place my hand on his chest for balance, my head rolling back and a moan building in my throat as I lower myself onto him, but almost as soon as the tip of his cock is inside of me, he grips my hips and lifts me off him. When I look to him for explanation, he simply smirks, his eyes full of mischief and naughty ideas.
My breath is shaky and my body quivers with anticipation. He knows what I want, yet every time I move to bring us closer together, he lifts me up to create space. His eyes are heavy with desire as they travel up and down my naked body, but he only watches me intently, wickedly refusing to give me what he knows I want. What he knows I need.
"Greyson..." My thighs shake against his and I try to move again, but he holds me still, taunting me as he glides his tongue across his bottom lip. "Please."
In that split second before he gives in to me, every nerve in my body is electrified. I'm buzzing. I want to slow down and savor this moment for the wondrous beauty that it is, but I also want to crash and fall over the edge as soon as possible. I know his abilities, and how incredible he can make me feel, and I want to feel everything, yet I fear sensory overload. I need all of him, right now, and that terrifies me.
I've never felt more alive.
He leaves one hand on my hip while the other wraps around the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my skin, and as he drives his hips up at the same time he pulls me down on him, we both cry out together. He's so deep this way, deeper than he's ever been. Deeper than anyone has ever been, and is it just me, or is he hitting another spot I never knew existed?
"Fucking Christ, baby." He slides his hand up my neck and into my hair and pulls, causing me to wince in titillating pain. "How is it you feel tighter every time I'm inside you?"
Grabbing his shoulders, I rock my hips forward against him, groaning loudly as he grips my ass and takes over, sliding me up and down his saturated cock at a punishing speed. He's taking. Claiming. Branding me in his own personal way. I hold onto the headboard as I continue to ride him, back and forth, up and down, bringing him almost completely out of me before taking him in again.
"Holy shit, Del. Just like that." He tightens his jaw and rocks into me as I move against him, thrusting himself deeper and deeper with each push. "You feel amazing. So God damn good."
"Incredible," I agree. He keeps his eyes on mine as he leans forward and takes my nipple into his mouth. He sucks, and flicks and nips, and when he releases my sensitive bud with a loud pop, I throw my head back and shout his name as the fever begins to spread throughout my body. A fire ignites in my stomach as my pussy aches. "Yes. Oh my, God. Yes!"
He slides his hand around my waist and down my stomach until his thumb finds my clit, and I whimper as he begins to slowly work it. My hands travel across his body – His abdomen. His chest. The back of his neck. His messy hair – as he rubs me in the way only he knows how. My pussy starts to pulse as he pushes himself into me, harder and with more force each and every time, taking me to the absolute brink. It's too much, but not nearly enough. I need more.
"Fuck me, Greyson. Harder."
He holds me still as he lifts his hips, plunging into me harder than he ever has, and it's magnificent. "Fuck, I love you so much. Oh, God!" he groans.
My climax was already teetering on the edge before he spoke, but when I hear how desperately he wants me, and how close he is to losing it, I burst, cumming harder than I ever have.
"Grey, I'm...oh, shit! I'm cumming. I'm cumming!"
His fingers grab my face and tilt it down, forcing me to look at him as I let go. My jaw drops as my orgasm hits – nearly possessing me – and his eyes burn into mine, arresting me as he opens his mouth and grunts loudly.
"Delaney. Fuck!"
I feel him burst inside of me, warm and explosive, and as he pulls my face toward his in a chaotic, frenzied kiss, I know I'll never want anything more than this. More than him. He's amazing – we're amazing – and I'll do whatever I have to in order for my life to stay just like this.
He pumps once, twice, four times before he stills and exhales a sated breath, his eyes staying on mine, giving me the satisfaction of watching him come completely undone, and that's when I know I can relax. My head hits his chest and when I feel his hand hold me there, I let out a resigned breath. In this moment, and every one after, I'm his – entirely, in every sense of the word.
When I think about how my life has changed in the last three months, I can't help but laugh a little. If I had made even one different decision, I wouldn't be here right now – with Greyson. Had I not left work early that day to tell Will about the opportunity Calvin had given me, I wouldn't have found him in bed with Chelsea, and I never would have had a reason to come back to South Grove. If I hadn't gone to work with my mother, I wouldn't have run into Jo, so I never would have been in Maribelle's the day I saw Greyson for the first time. Our actions set things in motion, and Will's created a whole new future for me. Will it always be this way? No. Are there going to be more hard times? Definitely. Will everything work out for me, for us? I don't know, because I can't predict the future, and after what happened with my marriage I've learned not to even try.
I still have a lot to figure out about myself and where my life is going before I feel like I can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's not going to be easy, but aren't the best things in life worth working for?
Thanks for reading!