"You're Peyton," I snap, fiercely, stepping into her and pulling her against my body with a hand on her waist. "You’re mine and you’re fucking perfect. I don't give a fuck what your past was."

She smiles sadly. "You do.  You might not want to care, but you do. You can't help it. It pissed me off to no end that you almost fucked Lindsay. It was a fucked move.  I get it. I get why you were upset."

I stare at her and she lifts a hand, the tips of her fingers brushing over the stubble on my jaw, higher to push into my hair, and I lean into her, my forehead resting against hers. "It doesn't matter."

"Look at it. Read it. Then tell me that." She kisses me, a brief press of her lips and the hint of summer sweet sugar before she pulls back.

Chapter 14 : After

It's carving my future into your

Skin, with lips and fingertips,

Twisting our lives together until there

Is no way to be

Anything but us.

Mapping the ink and curves

Of you until I know them

Like my own soul.

(Rike’s poems to Peyton )

“You ok?” he asks, and I glance at him. I’m reeling from what Lindsay told me.

She was getting married. I was her best friend, the maid of honor, the only person in Austin she really cared about besides Scott and Rike. It was us four against the whole world and we were fucking winning.

It was us two, privileged debutantes, and them, bad boys with tattoos and a past that made me cringe. And we made it work. We thrived.

And then it shattered.

Sometimes, the fairy tale is too fucking good to be true.

That was the only time Lindsay sounded bitter. And she had been. She’d been furious. I get it, though. She was on the edge of having it all—and something as senseless as a distracted cab driver snatched it away.

I might recover. I might get my memories back. But Lindsay would never walk away from the devastation of the accident.

“How is Scott?” I ask. His gaze flicks to me, startled. I shrug. “What’s happening to me doesn’t affect just you, and his fiancée is in that hospital still. How is he dealing with everything?”

Rike blows out a breath and flicks the blinker on, hitting the highway and speeding up. “He’s a mess,” he says honestly. “He should be on his honeymoon, and riding the wave of his band’s success. Instead, he’s spent the last month figuring out how the hell to keep her from leaving him and how he’s going to take care of her.”

I jerk around, staring at him. “Why the hell would she leave him?”

“Because she’s scared. Because she wants what’s best for him and always has. She won’t think that’s her, now that she’s in a wheelchair. Lindsay—she’s the best thing that could have happened to Scott. But it’s not easy being with him, and she won’t be the person to make his life harder unnecessarily.”

“But she loves him,” I protest shrilly.

His gaze slides to me and a bitter smile tugs the corner of one lip up. “Sometimes love isn’t enough, Peyton.”

He hits the blinker again, swerving for the exit, and I clutch at the door of the truck. We’re getting off the highway, and I glance out the window.

“Where are we? I thought we were going to get lunch.”

“We are,” he say.

The house he pulls up to is in a well-cared for neighborhood. The grass is a dirty green, and the flowerbeds a little overgrown, but there’s a wraparound porch with comfortable looking patio furniture, and a privacy fence hides the backyard.

I look at Rike, confused, and he grins at me. “I didn’t say where we were going, sweetheart. But this has been your favorite place to have lunch since the day we moved in.”

“This is our home?” I whisper, even though I knew. Of course it is. What else could it possibly be?

There is a tiny part of me, staring at this gorgeous house, that wants to race inside and soak it all in. Remember everything. Lie in the bed where I was happy.

A bigger part—the larger part—is terrified, and for a moment, I’m stuck to my seat, staring.

Rike pulls open the door and holds out his hand. His eyes are hopeful. And before I consciously make the decision, I put my hand in his and let him pull me from the truck. Against his body, all hard and hot against my own.

“Are you going to behave if we go in there?” I ask huskily, and then flush. I can’t believe I just asked that.

A slow smile curls his lips. “Do you want me to?”

I laugh, and step back. Because I’m a little terrified about how much I really don’t want him to.

“Come on,” he says, handing me the crutches and pacing me up to the door. I kinda love the way he’s so carefully attentive, his hand on the small of my back to brace me as I make my way up the three stairs to the front door before he swings it open.

The house is messy—not terribly surprising considering that I’ve been in the hospital. And it’s huge. I glance at Rike. “Did we live here alone?”

“No. It was originally a house with an apartment, and we thought it’d be perfect for us. The apartment has a small kitchen, so when we want privacy, we just go upstairs. And your studio is in the garage loft. Scott and I keep most of our shit in the garage, and that’s where he’ll practice with the band when they’re just fucking around. Lindsay works downtown, so she didn’t get an office, but we all have our space. And when we don’t want the space, we’re together.”

His eyes are bright and almost stupid happy as he talks about it and I can see it, can picture the life he’s painting out.

“Where is our room?” I ask, softly.

His eyebrows go up, and he points toward the back of the house.

“Do you want to see it?” The question is soft and very vulnerable.

“No,” I say. “Not today.” He nods and steps into the large kitchen. Pulls a bowl of soup from the fridge and starts heating it, and pouring us both tea. He’s efficient and brisk in his movements, a graceful poetry in motion doing something so simple and mundane.

But there is nothing simple or mundane about Rike. He’s gorgeous, with his shaggy black hair and the beard that is growing on me. The tattoos curving on his long, strong arms and licking across the skin over his fingers.

He’s everything I never expected to want, but this feels familiar. He’s who I chose. This unconventional, beautifully confusing life.

Scott and Lindsay.

They are the life I chose.

“How did we get here?” I whisper, and Rike’s gaze snags mine. I shake my head, helplessly. “This isn’t what I pictured, Rike. This is nothing like I imagined my life. And I understand that it’s what I chose. But I don’t remember, and I can’t reconcile it.” His expression falls, and I make a tiny noise, reaching for him. “I am trying, Rike. I just—it’s a lot.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I want to help, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to give you the space you need when all I want is to bring you home.”

I reach for him and catch his hand, twisting our fingers together. He stares at our fingers, until the microwave dings and it jerks both of us out of our thoughts.

The soup and crusty bread he brings out is delicious, creamy potato broth with a spicy sausage. But the tension between us strings tight and uncomfortable, and it makes my stomach twist, until I finally put the food down.

Rike is waiting, because as soon as I stop eating, he shifts, gathering the bowls and taking them to the sink.

“There’s some stuff in your office. I think you should look at it. Will you come upstairs with me?”

I nod, and he grins, shifting over to me and lifting me up from the chair.

“What are you doing?” I breathe out as he cradles me against his chest.