Prologue

My love,

Walk in the rain with me. Kiss me in the misty fog.

Let me hold you all night under the hush of the wind.

I’m waiting for you. Throwing pennies…making wishes.

I’m wishing only for you. Always for you.

Come back to me.

I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight for us.

Wish for me, too…and I’ll make it come true.

The frayed parchment paper is soft in my fingers, perfectly worn and aged, and I’m very aware that he chose this texture of paper, this color of ink, with careful consideration. Because he knows how much it means to me. Because he knows me. Like no else ever has or ever could.

I read his words over and over again; long after I have them memorized and they’re burned into my heart and soul, yet I still hold the handwritten note and stare at the words until they blur. I can hear his voice saying them; deep, yet soft and sensual. Raw.

I like touching the paper that I know he held in his hands. The hands that had once held me, caressed me, ignited passion and desire in me so deep that I still can’t forget. And I don’t ever want to.

The faint scent of his cologne drifts from the paper. Or maybe I’ve just wished for it so much that I’ve imagined it. Either way, it’s comforting and stirs memories.

Reading his words, all the feelings rush back like acid on a wound that won’t heal. He’s my other half; the one who makes my heart beat. The man who makes me feel every feeling that could possibly be felt – and then some. The man who held me and loved me through almost every moment of my life. I have no past without him, and no future without him. Quite simply, he is my world. There is no way I will ever move on from a love like ours. We belong to each other. I’ve always known it, and I am utterly exhausted from fighting it, denying it, keeping myself from it, and hiding it – as I’m sure he must be, too.

And now after the silence…he still loves me. He still believes in us, and his words assure me he’s willing to take on the world for me. For us.

It’s time for me to go back home to my love and to my heart. Time is precious, and I don’t want to give any more up.

1

Tor

Kenzi ~ one day old

Toren ~ fifteen years old

“We want you to be her Godfather,” Asher says as he gently lays his newborn baby into my arms. I have to tear my gaze away from her spellbinding eyes to look up at him from the chair I’m cradling the baby in.

“Me?” I repeat, glancing over at Ember in the hospital bed, who beams back at me with a tired, yet genuine smile.

“Yes, you,” they both say at the same time. “If it wasn’t for you, we probably never would have met,” Ember adds, grabbing Asher’s hand. “And we wouldn’t have this beautiful little baby. We know you’ll always protect her.”

“That’s right, man. You’re Uncle Tor now.”

I’m an uncle. And my two best friends are parents. And we’re all fuckin’ under sixteen.

But Kenzi Allyster Valentine would change us all forever. She needed us.

“Wow. I’m honored, guys. No doubt, I’ll always be here for her.”

I kick back the pang that hits my stomach. I didn’t get the girl…but I got something better that I never expected. A gift in the form of a little tiny hand wrapped tightly around my finger, huge eyes like gems staring up into mine like I was the most amazing person in the friggin’ world, and the first glimpse of what I could already tell was going to be a heart-stopping smile.

At that moment, a connection was born.

That was it.

She owned me.

My niece.

My goddaughter.

The love of my life.

Kenzi

I hop off the back of the motorcycle and run my fingers through my shoulder-length hair, trying to detangle the mess. The wind is brutal on my hair and turns it into a tumbleweed in less than five minutes of being on the bike. Grabbing my hips, he pulls me against him and plants a dry kiss on my lips that tastes like dirt from the road.

“Kenzi!” A deep male voice bellows from the top of my driveway, making us both jump. “If I see your ass on the back of that bike again, we’re gonna have some fuckin’ issues.”

Jason quickly pulls away his hands that had inched their way down to my ass. “Holy shit, is that your father?” he asks under his breath.

I let out a sigh and shake my head. My father is not one to raise his voice. Unless he’s singing on stage, of course. But never out in the driveway. And never at me. “No, it’s just my uncle.”