A lifetime of evasion tells me to charm her. A smile tries to grow on my lips, but I’m don’t let it bloom. I’m nervous as hell and worried I won’t be able to take away her hurt, or get her to understand, but she deserves straight honesty.

“I don’t need you to fix me, Stella. I need you for everything else. I need your smiles, your laughter. I need you to be my best friend, my lover, my all. I need to take care of you, touch your skin, make you dinner, give you pleasure whenever you’re in need.”

I lean in, emotion clogging my throat. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’d happily spend the rest of my life trying to be the best thing that has ever happened to you too.”

My speech ends with the sound of kids laughing in the background and a distant horn blaring. Stella blinks at me, her eyes glassy, her lower lip caught in the snare of her teeth.

“John …” Her voice breaks for a second. “That’s all I ever wanted. I wanted to take care of you too, not because I thought you are weak or messed up, but because I loved you and wanted to spoil you that way.”

My heart turns over in my chest, threatens to jump the fuck out of my body. “Button …” I reach for her but she takes a step back, holding up her hand.

“It’s hard for me to trust,” she says. “I’ve never been able to do that before you. And then you go and …” A tear slips free, and she inhales sharply like she’s pissed she showed any vulnerability. “What’s to say you won’t do it again?”

“I won’t,” I say swiftly.

Another tear escapes. “But how do you know? You panicked, and your first instinct was to cast me aside. How can I take that risk?”

God. I have no answer; I just know I won’t. I might mess up in other ways, but I won’t leave her. I can’t. But that won’t work for Stella. Pressure builds along the backs of my eyes and in the hollow of my chest. I dig my fists deeper into my pockets. “I don’t know what to say to make you stay.”

She nods, tears running freely down her smooth cheeks. “I don’t know if there is anything you can say.”

We stare at each other, and I feel the space between us growing. Had I hurt before? This is worse. This slices through my skin and crushes my hope. I won’t get over the loss of Stella.

With another nod, she turns and leaves. Throat closed tight, I watch her walk away. My heart shouts “no, no, no” with every step she takes, but I can’t move. I don’t know if I’m supposed to let her go, give her space, or fight for her, plead …

She halts, and my breath stops with her. Slowly she turns around. Face red and blotchy from crying, she looks at me with eyes wide and pained. “You know,” she says brokenly, “Maddy told me a story about her husband. She’d rejected him, you see.”

I shake my head, because I don’t see. But she keeps talking.

“She said he’d call her every night. He’d ask her one question. Was it worth it? Being without him,” Stella explains. “Was it worth it?”

She’s not talking about Maddy anymore.

I clear my throat, but my voice is still a thick rasp. “Was it?”

“I know how to be alone,” she says. “I’ve done it more than half my life. I can do it again.”

The burning behind my lids grows hot and itchy. I grind my teeth together, trying to hold it all in. “I know you can. You’re … you’re so strong.”

Her expression crumples. “I’m not.” And then she’s striding toward me, almost a jog. Before I can say a word, she’s knocking into me, stealing my breath. Her arms wrap around my neck. A choked sound escapes me before I clutch her close and bury my face in the silky tumble of her hair.

I’m trembling. Tears burn down my cheeks. I can’t stop them. Stella holds me up, holds on tight.

“He asked the wrong question,” she says, her voice muffled in the hollow of my chest.

“What was the right question?” I ask into her hair, because I’m not willing to let her go.

Stella presses her lips to my chest. “Is being with you worth living with the fear of eventually losing you?”

“You won’t lose me. You won’t.” I kiss the damp corner of her eye, just once because I can’t help myself, and taste her tears. “I can’t promise you perfection. I’m a moody bastard sometimes. I’ll have down days. But I tried living without you, and it was the worst feeling of my life. You’re part of me, Stella.” My fist thumps against my chest where it still feels hollow and incomplete. “You live here. Always.”

She leans back then and her hands cup my jaw, wiping at my cheeks with her thumbs as I wipe at hers. “Perfection is a myth. I’m not remotely perfect. If you love someone, you have to be willing to accept the flaws as well. I was walking away when it hit me that you don’t know how to trust either. Yet here you are, wanting to try again.”

“I do.” My forehead rests on hers. “Is it worth it, then?”

Her smile is tremulous. “Hear me well, John Blackwood, because I know how hard it is for you to take a compliment. You talk of my strength? You are the strongest person I’ve ever known. You are a survivor. Every day you fight for a better life. I am in awe of you. I adore you. I have since the beginning. Fear isn’t an easy thing to shake. But for you? I will be right there fighting by your side and never regret a day.”

I can’t speak. I can only haul her close and hold onto her. She hums softly beneath her breath, smoothing circles on my trembling back until I calm. “Thank you,” I say when I can find my voice. “For trusting me. For falling for me. I promise, Stella, I’ll always be there to catch you.”

Her voice washes over me like a song. “You already caught me. You did the second you stole my mint chip.”

A grin breaks out as I sling an arm over her shoulders and we walk off the bridge. “Come on now, Button, we both know you were the thief.”

“I was not! You knew I was going for The Mint.”

“And the kiss?”

She pinks. “Ah, well. But, I mean, have you seen you? How was I supposed to resist?”

My laugher rings out over the park, and I pick Stella up, carrying her the way I once did over a puddle. “I love you, Stella Grey.”

She rests her head on my shoulder. “I love you too, John-Jax Blackwood.”

Epilogue

Stella

* * *

It’s autumn now, my favorite time in New York. It’s crisp and cool, the air carrying the occasional scent of roasted chestnuts in the stiff breezes that rush down the avenues. Leaves are burnished orange and gold but the expansive lawns carpeting Central Park are still emerald green. Not that you can see much of that lawn now. People cover it, an undulating mass of humanity, all facing the stage set up under the fading sky.

That crowd starts to chant, calling for Kill John. The chant grows into a roar as John, Killian, Whip, and Rye jog out onto the stage and give them a wave.

John slips a guitar over his head and steps up to the mic. God, my man is sexy onstage, all swaggering hip and impish smiles. The olive green T-shirt he wears hugs his lean muscles, and when he grips the mic, his biceps bunch. I swear, half the audience goes wild over that sight—made larger than life on the huge screen set up behind the stage. In that moment, he becomes Jax Blackwood.