by Tamar Sloan
Chapter Twelve
A Moment is All You Need
I know the timing, the setting is important. My future is hanging on this moment. It has to be just right.
But in true Tara fashion, impatience has me at his house, on his porch, twenty minutes later.
I stand there, the door dominating my vision, suddenly at a loss. I don’t want to talk to his parents, not now. Not when I can’t explain this yet. I need to see how it ends.
My eyes sting.
I pull out my phone. Could we talk?
The reply buzzes in my palm almost instantly. I’m not up to it at the moment.
I grit my teeth as the tears threaten to overflow. Please?
This time there’s a pause, every second pulling my nerves taut. Fine. When?
I’d smile if I wasn’t so close to crying, I can practically hear his sigh. Now? I suck in some false courage and type the last two words. I’m downstairs.
I wait, but there’s no reply. Silence fills the air, taunting me.
My knees wobble and then give out. I plonk myself down on the nearest piece of furniture, thankfully right there beside the door. When my hand hits timber a second after my butt I look down.
It’s the bench. THE bench. And Mitch has placed it right next to the front door, for all to see on the Phelan front porch. I glance down and the smile finally arrives - a folded piece of cereal box is under the front left leg. A compressed, torn slice of Cheerios cardboard a reminder, a testament, of THE moment.
The door opens and I push up, my heart renewed by a burst of hope.
And stops.
In a t-shirt and grey sweats he looks casual, but the tense shoulders say differently. Mitch carefully and quietly closes the door. He jams his hands in his pockets and I watch him draw in a deep, deep breath. Please let it be a good thing that this is as hard for him as it is for me.
When he eventually, finally looks up, I lose all capacity to breathe. His face is drawn, a testament to how hard the past few weeks have been. My chest aches as I know it was me that played a big part in that.
“Well?”
Now that I’m here, I struggle to find the words. My throat works as my hands clench. Where do I start?
“Tara, I don’t think I’m up for this. Maybe we can talk at school.”
“No, I need you to hear what I have to say.”
Mitch shakes his head. “It’s okay, I get why you weren’t honest with me, Tara.”
The hurt of the past few weeks shifts in his eyes.
I look away, guilt bearing me down. “I know I wasn’t. And I’m so, so sorry.”
“But I think I understand why.”
My gaze rockets back to his.
“Your dad…he’s very…focused.”
“Understatement,” I mumble.
Mitch shrugs, desolation sucking at his shoulders. “I asked too much of you.”
That has my breath sucking in, then flying out. “Holy carp no.”
Mitch’s brows shoot up in surprise.
“You were totally right. The way you make me feel, the way we fit together…our love is something that should be fought for.” I hang on the precipice, knowing this is a jump I want to take. “So I asked Dad. I told him how important this is to me.”
It’s Mitch’s turn to be shocked. Astounded is what I’d use to describe the high brows, the slightly slack jaw. The silence not even broken by the sound of breathing.
“I told him that I love you. I’ve always loved you.” I step forward. “The truth is, I could never bond with anyone else.”
I wait, but Mitch seems frozen. He blinks, then blinks again. “And?”
I swallow, knowing the last barrier is about to be brought down, and then it will be up to him. “He said yes.”
Another flutter of eyelids. So help me, if those blue eyes blink one more time I’m going to be crushed by the tension that is building around us. But he doesn’t. It’s worse, he stands in wide-eyed shock.
When I’m lifted off the ground by strong arms, when the smile that fills my vision is so blinding I have to blink myself, I get my answer. Then I’m spinning and laughing, laughing and spinning. And Mitch, the one powering this carousel of joy, is laughing right along with me.
We finally slow and stop. Mitch’s eyes are wide when he asks, “Kurt said yes?”
“I told him that an alliance between our packs is a win for everyone.” I rest my palm on the face that still looks disbelieving. “I told him how I feel about you.”
Mitch slackens his hold and I slide down that delicious, hot bod. “That took some guts.”
My smile doesn’t waver. “Probably not how my Dad imagined the Channon grit to show itself.”
Mitch snorts, and I revel in the familiarity of our connection.
I push up on tippy-toes, wanting to revel in another feeling we’re so good at creating. “So, how do you feel about bonding after graduation?”
Mitch’s head tips down as his eyes darken. I breathe in cinnamon and citrus as his lips hover a heartbeat above mine. “Now that’s a moment I’m looking forward to.”
The instant our lips connect I simultaneously sigh and soar. Like a painting says a thousand words, Mitch’s kiss says everything. But a good painting will say its message simply and artlessly, and Mitch’s kiss says three words loud and clear.
I love you.
