Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
He hesitates a beat, then shrugs like it’s not worth the story. “I get some disability for my service related injuries. It gives me insurance that doesn’t cost cake even if it isn’t always the best coverage. I work and Hellions patched brothers get a cut of all club money. Invested well early on. Couple things paid out. Long time ago I decided if I was gonna live like I might die young, I’d still set myself up if I happened to make it beyond thirty-five.”
I swallow. “So you’re rich.”
He snorts. “Don’t start.”
“Miles,” I press. “You bought a house in a month.”
“Yeah,” he confirms. “And you don’t have to work unless you want to.”
The way he says it makes my chest ache. Not because I want to be taken care of like a child. But because no one has ever said it to me like my well-being matters.
“I like my work,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says. “And I’m in no way trying to take that from you.”
He shifts, sitting beside me, one arm draped behind my shoulders. “I just want you to know you don’t gotta grind yourself into dust anymore,” he explains gently. “Not for bills. Not for survival. Not for anyone.”
I stare at my hands in my lap, fingers twisting. “I don’t even know how to live like that,” I admit.
Miles presses a kiss to my forehead. “Then I’ll get to enjoy teaching you to breathe easy, baby.”
The simplicity of that makes my eyes fill again. Like life isn’t just something that happens to me. Like it’s something we build.
“No one has ever made things easy for me,” I whisper.
His eyes soften. “Then you were overdue,” he says.
My throat tightens. “I keep thinking,” I confess, “that I’m going to wake up and it won’t be real.”
Miles cups my face. “Then I’ll keep proving it,” he confirms, “Every day.”
The words break something open in me. I don’t even realize I’m crying until he wipes my cheeks.
“I don’t deserve this,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens, not angry—convicted. “Don’t,” he says firmly. “Don’t ever talk like that again.”
I swallow. “You deserve love,” he states. “You deserve peace. You deserve somebody who looks at your life and says, ‘Nah. Not anymore. I’m here now.’”
My chest aches so hard it feels like pain. “Life has never been smooth,” I say, voice trembling. “It’s always been—”
“And survival,” he finishes, nodding.
“Yes.”
Miles leans his forehead against mine. “Then let me be the calm,” he whispers softly. “Let me be the part that makes the ride easy.”
Here in his arms, in the home we share, and beginning our life together, I smile to myself because I found someone who wants to make me ride easy in this life.
I’ve never known love like this and I don’t ever want to take it for granted.
Life is hard, but to ride easy in life is a love like no other and it’s all mine.
Miles
The first time I ever met her grandfather, he looked at me like he was measuring whether I was worth the oxygen I was using. Didn’t smile much. Didn’t talk much. Just watched.
I respected that.
Men who’ve seen war don’t waste words.
Now I’m standing in the in-law suite we built for him, early morning light slanting across the hardwood floors, and my palms are sweating like I’m eighteen again.
He’s in his recliner, blanket tucked over his legs, coffee steaming in the mug I brought him. The patio door is cracked open just enough to let in the Carolina air. There’s birds somewhere in the trees, loud and bold.
I clear my throat. “Sir?”
He looks up over the rim of his mug. “You sound nervous,” he says.
“I am.”
He snorts faintly. “That’s new.”
I rub the back of my neck and step further into the room. “You got a minute?”
He sets the mug down slowly. “I got nothin’ but minutes,” he says. “Pull up a chair.”
I sit across from him, elbows on my knees, hands clasped together so he doesn’t see them shake. This man has been through artillery fire. He went through the worst of warfare and came out still standing.
I’ve been through my share of hell too. But this? This feels bigger. He watches me a long moment.
“You ain’t here to talk about the weather,” he says.
“No, sir.”
He nods once. “Then spit it out.”
I inhale slow. “I love your granddaughter.”
His expression doesn’t change. “I know.”
I swallow. “I’m not talking about the kind of love that passes. Or the kind that burns out. I’m talking about the kind that stays.”
He studies me, eyes sharp despite the years. “I would hope so,” he states matter-of-factly. “You are doing all the things that scream staying put. Domestication isn’t bad even for a lion that wants to be tamed.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods slightly, acknowledging the truth of that. “I want to ask her to marry me.”
The words land in the room like a bell. Clear.