His expression changes, his blue eyes softening as he answers, “Sylvie, with you it’s never been a matter of if I still love you. The real question, the only question, is will I ever be able to stop loving you. And the answer to that question is no.”
I shake my head, my heart singing like a kalimba inside my chest. “In that case, you cannot have weekends. I am fighting back now. Standing up for myself and for our son. And if you want to have a relationship with us, you must let us move back in. You must let us try to be a family together with you and Wes as we are so obviously meant to be—or why else would the universe have put us back together in Mexico? From now on, I am fighting for us, Holt. And in this case, I will not settle for anything else.”
My heart is all the way inside my throat. But for the first time in my life, I am absolutely certain that what I am saying, what I am doing, is right. And I don’t take back what I’ve said. I don’t back down or soften my stance.
Instead, I wait for his answer.
Which comes instantly, like the sun suddenly obliterating a rainy day. A wide, heartbreakingly handsome smile spreads across his face, followed by the rich sound of his laughter.
Then he steps forward and pulls me into his arms for a kiss worthy of a girl who has finally stopped running from her prince.
Chapter Forty-Nine
We don’t move back in with Holt the next day. We move back in within the hour. I have never been so grateful for the minimalist lifestyle Barron and I took on when we moved to employee housing in Mexico as I am when Mika opens one of the front doors for Wes. He comes running into my arms when he sees Barron and myself coming up the driveway with our one rolling suitcase each.
There are no negotiations this time. We sit down together at the table to discuss how it will be with us, and everyone asks for what they want. Wes wants to start having father-son days with him, Holt, and Barron. Barron wants to continue sequencing Wes’s emotions and start having lunches at the Cal-Mart offices once a month—to discuss shared family history and try out all the beta versions of the videogames Holt told him are often sent to the marketing department. I want Sundays to be family days. No work, no schoolwork. Then Holt shocks everyone by saying he wants me to be his wife…and he produces a lovely solitaire to go with the question.
“Say yes! Say yes!” the boys yell at me.
But the ring is so small and understated, I have to ask, “How long have you had this?”
Holt shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
But I believe it does. “Since Arkansas?” I ask him.
He shakes his head.
“Before that?” I ask.
“Yeah, before that,” Holt answers, voice tight.
And I guess, “That day you came to Hartford. You had it then, didn’t you?”
This time he nods, emotion shining in his eyes. He tells me the story of going into the liquor store and buying it off the lady behind the counter, because even though it was small, it reminded him of me, simple and beautiful. “But this is a temporary one. I’ll get you a nicer one later,” he promises. “Whatever you want—”
I cut him off by taking his ring out of the box and jamming it onto my wedding ring finger. “No, this one,” I tell him. “And I am never taking it off.”
That night, we all get what we want with hugs and kisses and congratulations all around.
After our second implosion in Arkansas, I suspected Holt’s and my relationship had been one born of extremes. We were obsessed with each other because we could never fully have each other. And our powerful connection in bed was based on those extremes.
But that night, these suspicions fade away. We make love for hours, from behind, face to face, side by side…like we’re auditioning for the Kama Sutra. Not because we’re desperate to hang on to each other, but because we’re finally at peace and know the other won’t leave.
We have seen the worst of each other, and we love each other despite it. Just as Holt vowed to be the father he wished he’d had to our sons, he vows to be the husband he wished his mother had to me. And in return, I promise to build a life with him, a family with him, one I’ll never ever fail to fight for again.
Holt Calson wants me. And so Holt Calson has me. I belong to him. So, that—I am so happy to proclaim that night—is how it will be.
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Dearest,
Deep breath… I nearly scrapped my back of the novel letter this time, because it was so difficult to write. Just like this story. Holt and Sylvie are probably my hardest couple to date, because they had so many real—like for real REAL problems. Many of which they didn’t fully understand themselves, until with each other’s help they finally did.
When this couple first presented to me as a story, all I knew was that he overdosed and that she didn’t think he had any business being interested in her in the first place. Exploring what happened both before and after they fell apart has been both heart-wrenching and instructive.
My own mother died when I was 19, so writing another character who lost a parent around the same age felt very close to home. What would have been my mother’s 70th birthday also happened during the writing of this book and wow… let’s just say telling this story helped me more than you can ever know. So thank you for receiving it.
But in the end, I’m so glad Holt and Sylvie discovered the power we all have within ourselves… to forgive … to parent… to fight back and for… to love each other… and to happily ever after, knowing that we’ve become the people we needed to be to deserve this big love from family, friends, and partners alike.
And if you’re glad, too, please do these characters the boon of leaving a review. Meanwhile, here’s me wishing you lots of peace, love, and understanding this holiday season.
Such tights hugs,
Theodora Taylor
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