Our Finest Moment ✔️

49

LIANA

Waking up in Colton's arms, inside his dark bedroom, will never not feel good. It's like he's the home I've never felt I've had. That scares me, but in the best way.

He's already awake when I move my hand up his chest, tracing the black ink that moves across it, his throat rumbling a tired, "Good morning."

I smile up at him, settling closer against him as he wraps an arm around my shoulders, the other resting behind his head. He kisses my temple, before he moves to pick something up from the floor. "Sorry it took so long," he excuses, clearing his throat, as if he's nervous.

Colton Radley, the monstrous mob boss, is nervous.

"What?" I question, pulling a strand of hair behind my ear.

"This," he says as the thing he's picking up comes to view. My breath catches in my throat as I realize it's my mother's sweater; the one I spent months on the street in, clutching it so hard to my being because it was the only thing I had left of her—and I'd forgotten it. "Callie has a friend who knits, and she offered to fix the holes and wear on it, and I was an asshole who didn't ask if it was okay, so..." He trails off, grimacing a little. My eyes move to his as he shakes his head, and I bite back a smile as he struggles to speak. "Sorry," he adds, clearing his throat again. "I hope the holes didn't mean a lot, or something.."

I get on my knees next to him, and gently take the sweater from his outstretched hand. His eyes are so heavy on me, I shudder, but not for the same reason as last night. Now, he looks as if he's afraid I'm sad, or disappointed, or angry.

He cares about that—which makes my heart skip a beat.

It skips another as I take in the sweater. It's still gray and old, but the wear and tear from my months as homeless isn't there. The holes near the hem are gone, and it looks like the sweater I took so good care of before my life was ripped out from under my feet.

It looks like the one my mother is wearing in the picture Sergeant Bell gave me.

"Oh my god, Colton," I whisper, clutching the sweater against my chest with all the force I have. As I close my eyes, a few tears fall, and I choke a sob.

"Fuck, Liana, I—"

"No," I protest when he sits up and puts his hands on my elbows. I look at him—really look at him—and smile so wide it hurts my cheeks. "Thank you," I tell him, "really, it's...it's amazing. I just—I can't believe I actually forgot about it.."

He breathes out, as if relieved at my reaction. Then his fingers latch onto my chin, and he smiles a soft smile that tells me so much about what he's feeling. I don't dare think it—it might make me cry even more, and realize some things I might not be ready to face.

"I think it's a good thing you forgot," he says softly. "It doesn't mean you forgot her, just that you're finally somewhere safe, somewhere you don't need a sweater to comfort you, because I do it instead."

I nod. "You're right." I sniffle and move to wipe my cheeks, but he beats me to it. His thumbs move below my eyes, removing the salty tears, before he leans down and gives me one of the most gentle kisses I've ever gotten.

It's sweet, it's good, it's lovely. It's everything we won't say out loud to each other yet, because I think we're both afraid we're too fragile. Our foundation will be stronger than anything, but it hasn't fully set yet.

Soon, though. When everything with Kenneth is over, I'll tell him everything I can't think of yet. I'll tell him, show him, make him so sure that I'm his and he's mine that I might as well tattoo it on him.