Breathe With Me By Becka Mack - 23

T HERE’S ALWAYS BEEN SOMETHING SPECIAL about Christmas in Vancouver.

Twinkling lights that dazzle like diamonds across the city and up into the mountains, snow-covered peaks vibrant against an icy-blue sky. Crisp air kissing your cheeks, and breathing in the fresh scent of evergreens. The subtle crunch of the fresh-fallen snow as a deer wanders through a frosty forest, and the heat from the hot chocolate in your hands and the fire by your feet as you sit back and revel in something that, more often than not, feels like a miracle.

There truly are no words to describe the sheer beauty of all this nature during the most magical time of the year.

No words to describe the sheer beauty of my wife, either, as she appears with a bouquet of white and sky-blue roses at the edge of the lantern-lined aisle she set up herself hours ago.

I wink at Cara, but my heart stops as she draws closer, her blue eyes so icy and vivid, like they belong right here in this winter wonderland. Her shawl slips slowly from her shoulder as she steps below the arched altar, rustic beams wrapped in chiffon, and I can’t stop myself from stepping forward, fingertips drifting over her cool skin as I shift her shawl back into place. Rosy heat blooms in her cheeks, and I have the strangest urge to shove the groom out of the way and marry my bride all over again.

Something tells me Garrett and Jennie wouldn’t appreciate that, though.

Honestly, Cara wouldn’t either. She’s been planning this wedding since Garrett and Jennie got engaged exactly one year ago on Christmas Eve. Not only is every detail meticulously planned, right down to the underwear on every single person in this wedding party, she’s also prepared for just about any and every scenario that could potentially go wrong. Essentially, she’s prepared for Carter, not for me.

So I begrudgingly pull my hand back, but not before she hits me with the arch of her brow.

“You’re lucky,” she murmurs as she makes her way to the other side of the makeshift altar.

“You have no idea, Mrs. Brodie.”

I get back in line with Garrett, Adam, and Jaxon as the procession of beautiful women continues, Rosie, Lennon, and Olivia, followed by Emily, Jennie’s maid of honor. Garrett’s three kid sisters are next, and then Ireland and Lily come dancing down the aisle, one of them tossing flower petals into the air with grace while the other crushes them in her teensy fists, chucks them at the ground, and then stops to pull a half-crumbled Oreo out of the pocket of her fluffy white dress (guess who’s who). Connor walks down the aisle much more studiously, blushing and waving to everyone before he rushes over to Garrett and hands him the ring box. Holly is next, escorted down the aisle with Hank on her left and Axel on her right. From her bouquet hangs a small locket with her late husband’s initials, same as the one Cara fixed to Jennie’s bouquet too, earlier this morning.

The music fades, and I chance a look at Garrett, trying desperately to blink away the tears that keep gathering in his eyes. His tie is a mess, again, and Jaxon seems to notice at the same time I do, stepping in front of the groom, straightening his tie for him.

Garrett releases a shuddering breath, smoothing his hand down the silk. “Everything’s fine. Everything’s great. It’s gonna be great, right?” He laughs, shrill and panicked, and I reach behind Jaxon, giving Garrett a gentle tap on the back of his head. “ Hey. ” Glowering at me, he rubs the back of his head. “What was that for?”

I flick my head down the aisle as their song starts. “That’s your bride, dude.”

His turquoise eyes follow mine, and he falls still as Jennie appears at the end of the aisle, her arm linked with Carter’s. The corner of his mouth lifts, and a tear carves a silent path down his cheek. “That’s my bride.”

Remember when I said Cara prepared for everything today? Well, I was wrong. She prepared for Carter, don’t get me wrong. Prepared for all of his shenanigans, including the ones he doesn’t even consider shenanigans. Even prepared for his tears.

What she didn’t prepare for, though, was the way this man’s raw emotions would affect everyone else as he walked his sister down the aisle toward her soulmate.

Because when they reach the altar, the two of them embracing so tightly, Jennie’s hand fisted in his suit jacket, Carter’s in her veil, the tissues start making appearances throughout the rows of guests. But it’s when his voice breaks, his words a hoarse whisper as tears streams down his face, that everyone loses it.

“Thank you for being my best friend, Jennie. I love you, and I’m so honored to walk you into this new chapter.”

And Cara did not appropriately prepare for moving along a wedding ceremony where all eighty guests—and the bride and groom—are sobbing uncontrollably.

I WISH I COULD SAY it ends there, but it doesn’t.

Sometime after the sun sets, when the guests are gathered around the food trucks and the bonfires along the edge of Capilano Lake, Santa arrives at the reception, carrying a sack of presents over his shoulder, one hand on his full belly as he tosses out ho after ho , gift after gift. Except Carter is conveniently missing, and when Santa’s white beard gets caught on a branch and momentarily dislodges, a confused Ireland says, “Daddy?”

And when his sack is finally empty and the rest of us blow out a sigh of relief, he announces he has one more gift, a special one for the bride and groom.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cara growls out as Santa reappears with something large, black, fluffy, and… alive.

Olivia buries her face in her hands as the gift starts barking. “I am not responsible for him.”

Emily grabs a fistful of marshmallows from the hot chocolate station, dropping them in her cup. “I don’t remember Santa and his baby reindeer being on the guest list for tonight.”

Rosie giggles, then snaps her mouth shut when Cara glares at her. “I had no hand in this. That puppy definitely, one hundred percent did not come from the shelter where I work.”

“Special thanks to Rosie for introducing me to Bones!” Santa Carter calls, waving at her from across the way as Jennie squeals, scooping the oversized puppy against her chest while Cara—and now Garrett—glare at Rosie.

Lennon snickers, snapping a picture of Jennie and the dog, who seems to be named Bones, which is odd, because I’m 99 percent sure Garrett’s mentioned a certain toy belonging to him and Jennie, named Indiana Bones. Lennon seems to read my thoughts, because she asks, “Does Carter know about Indiana Bones?”

“Not yet,” Jaxon says with a low cackle. “Len, honey, make sure you have a clear shot when I tell him he unwittingly named his sister’s new dog after her favorite dildo.” He steps in his direction.

“Take one more step, Jaxon,” Cara threatens lowly, “and you’ll come home from your next road trip to find your precious Mittens with a new haircut.”

Jaxon gasps. Stops dead in his tracks. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Cara lifts a single brow. “Oh? Wouldn’t I?”

He blinks. Once, then twice. A third time, and then he sidesteps behind me, as if I’d ever get in my wife’s way.

Cara turns back to Carter with a sigh, watching him and Jennie as they roll around with the dog in the snow. “What if we’ve all just been underestimating him all this time? What if he knows exactly what he’s doing?”

Olivia crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at her husband. “Are you saying he ate the Oreo Blizzard I had stashed in the freezer at home for later tonight on purpose?”

Cara snorts a laugh. “What?”

“My Oreo Blizzard. We went yesterday, and I got two. I said I wanted one right away, and another for tonight when we got home from the wedding. He said that was a good idea, and I said he should also get two, then, because he wasn’t having any of mine. He insisted he didn’t need it, but guess where my Blizzard was when I went to check on it this morning?” Olivia throws her outraged arms in the air. “ Gone! ” Her face twists, like just thinking about it makes her angry all over again. “ ‘ I only meant to have a bite ,’ he cried when I asked him why there was hot fudge sauce in his beard!”

“Hey.” I reach over, squeezing her shoulder. “Care and I will take you through the Dairy Queen drive-thru on the way home.”

“Dairy Queen is closed , Emmett! Don’t you think I know their hours of operation by now?”

“Uh, McDonald’s? A McFlurry is basically the same—”

“Don’t,” Olivia whispers on a shaky, violent breath, and are those fucking tears brewing in her angry, betrayed eyes? “Don’t you dare. ”

I inch toward Cara for protection. “I—I didn’t… I don’t…” My eyes widen when Olivia’s lower lip wobbles, and when she blinks, sending those tears cascading down her cheeks, my mouth gapes, words escaping me.

Rosie shuffles over as best she can, a sweet little waddle reminiscent of a penguin, her belly colliding with Olivia’s when she wraps her arms around her. “That was unnecessarily cruel, Emmett,” she says in a voice that manages somehow to be both soft and scolding.

Adam shakes his head, reaching into his pocket. “Don’t mess with a pregnant lady’s ice cream.” He produces a handful of mini chocolate bars and tiny bags of Swedish Berries, grinning carefully at Rosie and Olivia, slowly extending his offering. “Hey there, beautiful ladies. Would either of you care for a sweet treat?”

“Your heart was in the right place,” Cara murmurs, soft lips touching the shell of my ear, the kiss of her fingertips drifting over the back of my neck as she presses her chest to mine.

“They’re so scary,” I whisper back, Rosie and Olivia ripping through the candy like scavengers. Jaxon nearly loses a finger when he tries to sneak a pack of Swedish Berries.

“I know, baby. And you’ve always been powerless against strong, scary women, haven’t you?” Her hand sneaks between us, and I drop my gaze to hers as long, slender fingers take a slow stroll toward dangerous territory. All thoughts promptly exit my head and my mouth runs dry as she finds my crotch, teasing the desperate lump growing between us. “Emmett? I asked you a question.”

“Huh?” I grip her hips, squeezing as she tugs gently at my zipper. “You asked the, uh… What was the…”

“I said you’ve always been powerless against strong women,” Cara murmurs, warm breath tickling my jaw. She slides my zipper down, slow as fucking molasses, and I have literally zero fucks to give that we’re in the middle of a wedding reception right now. When she slips her hand inside my pants and squeezes my cock through my boxers, I moan, and she smiles. “Haven’t you, baby?”

What was the goddamn question? I can’t remember. My eyes bounce to hers, and my mouth gapes as she strokes me slowly while we’re pressed together, barely hidden, that half grin on her face every bit as confident as the night we met.

It’s been a week since we talked, only a week since we decided to put a pause on the fertility treatments and focus instead on rebuilding the pieces of us that have crumbled along the way, and it’s been quiet in that slow and steady kind of way, like an endless Sunday morning with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Cara’s been snuggled into me every free minute we’ve had, gradually stealing back pieces of her confidence here and there, whenever she feels ready. I’m endlessly proud of her, and it’s hot as balls to watch. I think that’s why I blurt out “I love you,” not giving a single fuck as it spirals into a whimper when she tugs, so fucking gently.

And then her hand disappears.

Cara steps back, mischief dancing in her eyes as she murmurs, “Excuse me,” and grabs her wineglass. “I’m ready for a refill.” She winks. “I need to loosen up.”

“I’ll fucking loosen her up,” I accidently growl out loud, spinning to watch her ass sashay across this winter wonderland toward the mobile bar truck. As surreptitiously as I can manage, I stuff my tented briefs back where they belong, hissing as I struggle to move the zipper where it needs to be, not where it wants to be.

“Emmett.”

My hands freeze, and my gaze rises in slow motion, my mind struggling to form a realistic excuse for why my pants are undone, one that won’t get me barred from all future events.

But Olivia’s watery brown eyes are only filled with shame and guilt as she sniffles. “I’m sorry for how I acted about the McFlurry. It’s just, weddings make me emotional, and this isn’t just any wedding. It’s Jennie and Garrett, and they deserve the world. And also, it’s the hormones. I’m tired all the time, and I can barely move. Have you seen my ankles? No? Me neither; I haven’t seen them in weeks at this point. I mean, for fuck’s sake, I’m wearing the most hideous boots I’ve ever seen at my sister-in-law’s wedding, Emmett!” She hikes up her dress, gesturing aggressively at the boots Carter wears when he’s shoveling his driveway, before straightening and holding up a lone mini chocolate bar to me. “Anyway, I saved this one for you as an apology.”

My hand isn’t even halfway across the space between us when Olivia yanks the chocolate into her chest, hitting me with a full pout. “Unless you don’t want it?”

I roll my eyes, tugging my zipper up the rest of the way. “You turn into your husband when you’re pregnant.”

She gasps, fists clenching. “How dare you!” I have the sudden overwhelming urge to run, but then her eyes drop, and she cocks a brow. “Emmett, why were your pants undone?”

My hands still. Slowly, I let them fall away from my pants. “Huh?”

“Your pants. You just zipped them up.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Olivia.” I cock my head, leveling her with a look. “You just cried over me suggesting a McFlurry as a replacement for a Blizzard, and Adam had to calm you down with candy he had stashed in his pocket. Do you think maybe you’re not seeing things clearly right now? I mean, why in the world would I have my pants undone at a wedding?”

She opens her mouth to argue with me, then frowns. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

I pat her head, following it up with a quick peck on her forehead before I beeline for the bar to escape my guilt over gaslighting Olivia. She’s innocent in all of this, after all.

As I approach the bar, I take a moment to appreciate the sight before me. Legs straight to heaven and bloodred heels that could kill. Shimmery, fine black mesh draped over the most impeccable heart-shaped ass, and a slit so high, every person here gets a glimpse of those luscious thighs when she swings a hip out. Long, thick waves the color of champagne shine like silk as she tosses them over her shoulder, letting them fall down her spine like a waterfall. Glass of red wine in her hand, back to me as she scrolls through her phone, I can’t help but think back to that night nearly four years ago now, when I snuck into the kitchen and found her alone at the counter after everyone had left.

And I think the exact same thing I did in that moment: That’s my wife.

Her thumb pauses on her phone screen as I move toward her, like she can feel me at her back, feel the way every ounce of oxygen is squeezed from the air as the space between us disappears.

I stop behind her, when there’s nothing more than an inch separating us, and all I can smell is ginger and cardamom, hints of cocoa butter and lime, her perfume and shampoo mixing together in that mind-altering way that makes me feel drunk. I can’t stop myself from trailing the tip of one finger along her bare shoulder, letting it dance down her spine, catching the tip of a wave and winding it around my finger. I watch the way her pulse flutters in her neck, listen to her breathing, the way it hitches when my lips ghost the shell of her ear.

“Dance with me, Mrs. Brodie.” I pluck her phone from her hand, slipping it into my pocket, and wrap my fingers around hers.

Cara bites back an amused smile as she lets me haul her to the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by lanterns and twinkling pines. “Do you always take what you think is yours without waiting for permission?”

I bury my smile in her neck as I haul her body flush against mine. “Always.”

“Mmm. A common criminal, Mr. Brodie.”

“Better to seek forgiveness than permission.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever apologized for taking my heart all those years ago, and certainly not my panties.”

“Why would I do that? I didn’t think those things belonged to me; I knew they did.”

“Arrogant,” she murmurs, winding my tie around her hand. She tugs, bringing my ear to her lips. “Good thing you have a big cock to back it all up. Perhaps that’s the only reason I stayed. I was dickmatized.”

“Hey, a win is a win.” Gathering her hair in my hand, I lay it over her shoulder, giving me free access to trail a finger down her spine, savoring every single goose bump that pebbles along the way until my palm settles just above her round ass. “This dress is exquisite.”

“I know.”

“Can’t wait to fucking ruin it.”

She laughs, a beautiful, threatening sound. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Brodie. If your best bud over there manages to make it through the reception without him or his dog ruining Garrett and Jennie’s wedding, I’ll let you use me however you want when we get home.”

I don’t need a mirror to know that my eyes light like the extravagantly decorated pine trees surrounding us. “However I want?”

“ However you want.” Her gaze shifts around the party, and I damn near swallow my tongue when her hand slips between us, squeezing my hard cock. “I’ll be your good girl, your brat, or your perfect little slut. On my knees, ass up, or spread and tied. And you?” A slow, torturous stroke, and when the fuck did these pants get so tight? “You, big boy, can come wherever you please, as often as you like.” With a gentle pat-pat for my poor, desperate cock, Cara releases me, sweeping the softest of kisses across my lower lip before she steps back. “As long as you’re willing to bet on your bestie.”

“Am I willing to—uh, yes . Obviously. Obviously I’m willing to bet on Carter. He’s not gonna disappoint me.” I huff a laugh, all parts anxious as I scrub a hand over my chest, stopping just short of adjusting myself right here on the dance floor. Cara’s lower lip slides between her teeth as she tries like hell to bite back her pleased smile. “Don’t look so arrogant,” I chastise, shaking my finger at her—for what reason, I have no idea. Maybe it makes me feel better about putting faith in Carter Beckett for anything other than fearlessly leading our team and being clinically obsessed with his wife and daughter. “You’ve never believed in him. Would it kill you to give him the benefit of the doubt just this once? Hasn’t he proved himself a loyal, level-headed, mature—”

“A what ?” Carter’s screech cuts through the air, and I close my eyes. “No, that’s not… that’s… We can change his name! It’s not too late to change it! We can… we can… Oh my God , I named him after a dildo !”

Truly, there isn’t much I can say.

And any sliver of hope I’d been clutching? It vanishes.

That’s why all I can do is hang my head and sigh.

“F OR THE FIFTH TIME, E MMETT, we are not getting a dog.”

“But why ?” I shut the door behind me, collapsing against it. “You loved Bones! Bones loved you !”

Cara peels off her coat, carefully setting it aside. She arches her brow as she steps out of her heels. “I hardy think I loved Bones.” She laughs, every bit of it shrill and full of shit. She loved that fucking dog, and everyone knows it. In fact, Lennon captured photographic evidence of it, clicking away while Cara had that dog cradled in her arms like a newborn baby.

“Cara, you pulled off Jennie’s hair bow and put it on Bones,” I holler, arms wide.

Cara stomps a foot, fists balled at her sides. “He looked cute as fuck with that forest-green bow on his floppy ear and you know it! Everyone knows it!”

“Of course he looked cute!” I yell after her as she starts up the stairs. “He’s only eight weeks old and he’s already thirty pounds! He’s huge and fluffy and you put a fucking bow on him! Of course he’s gonna look cute!”

She tosses me a look over her shoulder, saucy and suspicious as I follow her into the bedroom. “You know, it’s just horrible what you’re trying to do to me.” She twists, showing me her back, the zipper that starts just above her ass.

“And what am I trying to do to you?” I whisper, lowering her zipper. “Because I know what I’d like to be doing to you.”

She slaps my hand away as I try to sweep the dress off her, instead turning around to stare at me as she backs herself into the closet. “You’re trying to make me exercise. Who’s going to walk the dog when you’re not here? Huh? You know I don’t willingly walk unless it’s a wine tour, shopping, or an after-dinner yap with the girls, Emmett!”

I snort a laugh, pulling my clothes off, ditching them in the hamper as I close in on her. “You like a different kind of exercise, firefly. In fact, I think you spend a lot more time working out than you realize.”

Cara licks the smile off the corner of her mouth. She steps out of her dress but holds it in front of her, hiding her body. “Let’s table the dog talk for now. I’d like to change into something a little more… festive.”

Yes. Fuck yes. I resist the urge to jerk a fist into my side in celebration, instead grabbing her face, plopping a sloppy, loud kiss on her mouth, and hightailing it to bed while giggling, which is arguably much more mature of me.

I get comfy on the bed, spreading out on the mattress, arms behind my head as I keep my eyes on the closet door, waiting for it to open. My cock is every bit as eager as me, ready to ring in Christmas Day with a bang. “Patience, big guy,” I whisper, giving him a slow tug that makes me groan.

And we are patient. But then five minutes turn into ten, and ten into fifteen, and every man has his breaking point.

I slip off the bed, heading for the closet. “Care, baby, was edging me for twenty minutes part of your plan? Because while I do commend you for it, I’m going to have to punish—” I stop short at the sight before me.

Cara, naked, staring at herself in the full-length mirror, her festive lingerie crumpled up in a ball on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Her eyes glide to mine in the mirror, and she gasps, grabbing her housecoat and covering herself up. “Emmett.” She swipes frantically at her cheeks, trying to dry her face. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Um, hey, I’m kind of tired. Do you mind if we just—”

I catch her hand, stopping her as she tries to move past me. “Absolutely we can go to bed. Right after we talk about what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.”

Fear fills her eyes, and she shakes her head. “But I… I don’t really…” She trails off, like she couldn’t even find the words if she tried. Instead, she folds her arms over her stomach, covering it up, and hangs her head.

My palm slides along her jaw, tipping her face until her haunted gaze collides with mine. “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Her lower lip trembles, but she nods, letting her arms fall to her sides as I unknot the tie on her robe. My hands glide over her shoulders, down her arms, guiding the robe off her body and to the floor. Watching Cara’s hands fly to her front, desperate to cover herself up, is like a fist closing around my heart. I pull out one of my black T-shirts, Cara’s favorite ones to wear to bed when I’m on the road, and I slip it over her head, a slight smile tipping my lips as I watch it engulf her.

Tangling our fingers, I lead her to the bathroom, where I gather her hair in a clip and clean her face before applying all her nighttime serums, swiping away the occasional tear that runs down her cheek in the process. When we’re brushing our teeth side by side at the counter, her in my T-shirt, me in a pair of boxer briefs, her handwriting on my hip, I smile, and she blushes.

“What are you grinning at?”

I open the drawer where we keep our markers, pick the pink one, and draw a big heart on the mirror, right around Cara’s reflection. My favorite view , I scrawl before tossing the marker back in the drawer and rinsing my mouth. I tap her nose, right where it’s scrunching, and press a kiss to one pink cheek before I tow her to bed, fluffing her pillows via karate chop.

When I climb in beside her, she’s lying on her back, wringing her hands at her chest. I crook a finger at her, murmuring, “C’mere, firefly,” and she takes only a moment to study me before she fits herself perfectly into my side, like we were carved at the same time, from the same damn rock.

“We’ve got all night, gorgeous,” I tell her, running two fingers up and down her arm. “I’m ready to listen, whenever you’re ready to talk.”

I always know how desperate Cara is to get something off her chest based on how long it takes me to coax it out of her. Sometimes it’s an all-day project, and sometimes it comes barreling out of her. Tonight, the words come with her first deep breath.

“I… I’m ashamed of my body,” she admits on a fractured whisper. “I feel so much hatred inside me, so much resentment for not being able to do this one thing, the thing that the whole world says a woman’s body is supposed to be able to do. I look at it and wonder what you think when you look at me. If there’s a part of you, even the smallest part—” She pauses, pressing the heel of her palm between her eyes as she squeezes them shut, tries so damn hard to breathe through it. “If there’s a part of you that resents it too. Loves it less. Loves me less. But the worst part…” Cara loses the battle, burying her face in her hands, and I hold her shaking body so damn tight to mine as she weeps. “The worst part is the shame I feel for hating my body so much. Here I have this amazing vessel that’s done the most incredible things for me day after day, year after year, and I want to love it for all of that, but all I can focus on is the one thing it can’t do. I don’t… I don’t know how to forgive myself, Emmett. What if… what if I never do? Who am I if I can’t love myself?”

Pain explodes through my chest, ripping up my throat as Cara’s face all but disappears in my side, her fingernails biting into my skin as she clings to me and lets it all out, every ounce of fear she’s been holding on to. And me? I bury my fingers in her hair, look up at the ceiling, and cry for the struggle this woman is facing, the grief, so much more than failed cycles and negative pregnancy tests, but a war, a real goddamn war she’s waging with herself, no idea how to pull herself out.

Here’s the thing: I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure there’s anything I can say that will fix this, anything that won’t sound like forged and inflated hope, positivity I’m forcing on her, only confirming what she fears: that she’s alone in this, that she’s misunderstood.

All I want to do is let her know that I see her. That I hear her. That she’s safe with me.

So we lie here, clinging to each other, and we cry. We cry for the mountains of negative pregnancy tests, for every cycle of grief that starts over every month, for the shame nobody should ever have to feel, for the destruction of one woman’s self-worth, for the fight she so fucking desperately wants to end. And when her tears begin to slow, her body sinking into mine as she gives in to the exhaustion, I turn us on our sides and take her face in my hands.

“You are human, Cara. You win, you lose. You laugh and you love, and you struggle and you grieve. You’re human. Magnificently made, every inch of your path forged by you . Every mountain you’ve conquered is because you’ve refused to stay where you are. Every fight you’ve won is because you’ve refused to settle. Because you get back up again, no matter how long it takes you. Not because of your body. Because of your heart.

“I know this feels never-ending. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, like you haven’t felt your lungs fill in forever. I know you need it now, but healing doesn’t work like that. Sometimes the healing is every bit as painful as the hurting. But I promise you, Cara, there is nowhere for us to go but up. And we go together. You put your hand in mine and we move. We can take our time, go one step at a time. But we breathe, and we keep going. ”

Cara grips my hands on her face, bloodshot eyes searching mine. “Some days I don’t move at all, Emmett. Some days I’m not sure I ever will again.”

“You’re here, Cara. As long as you’re here, you’re moving. Some days you feel like you can conquer the world. Some days, conquering the world is still breathing at the end of the day. As long as you’re here, you’re moving. ”

Cara throws her arms around my neck, and there’s something about the way she falls apart against me, like she’s finally set down everything she’s been carrying on her own, given herself the grace to breathe, to rest. To let someone else carry it with her.

Hooking a finger under her chin, I bring her tear-soaked face back to mine. “You’re going to get there. You’re going to heal, and you’re going to fall head over heels in love with yourself again. I’ll be by your side every step of the way, and you know what I’ll say?”

She sniffles, scrubbing her eyes before laying her head on the inside of my bicep. “What will you say?”

The way she gazes up at me with so much love, it pulls my mouth to hers, demanding a kiss, the softest sweep of my lips along hers before I tell her, “That’s my fucking wife.”