Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

it worse." He grabs my hand and brings it to his other arm. The American flag tattoo bright with colors. He moved my hand down a scar now. "He tore open my arm with a broken beer bottle. He only took me to the hospital because he couldn’t stop the bleeding. Told them I fell and landed on the broken glass. It was the first tattoo I got." My eyes look at the tattoo and I want to kiss the scar that lives under there.

"I’m so sorry," I tell him.

"I thought families like yours only existed on television or in books,” he says. "The first time I came here I was blown away. The love that you all had for each other was contagious. I just stood there and took it all in. Basked in it and pretended that I was one of you. I thought about how different my life would have been had I been raised with this kind of love."

"You are one of us," I say, ignoring all the warning signs that are flashing. I wipe away one of his tears.

"I can’t stay here," he says when I cup his cheek. "I refuse to see that fear in your eyes."

"I was scared," I admit. "Scared that you would be hurt again. I was scared that this time I wouldn’t be able to save you." My other hand comes out, and my thumb catches a lone tear.

"I won’t let you be hurt." He swallows. "I can’t. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself."

"Then stay," I whisper, and I don’t know exactly what I’m asking him. My heart knows, but so does my head. "Stay and let us protect you." He looks up at me. "Stay and let us be by your side."

I feel his hand on my leg now. "Chelsea, I won’t be able to survive if anything happens to you."

"I won’t be able to survive if you leave," I tell him honestly, and I take the biggest leap of my life. I bend down and whisper, "Don’t leave me."

"Chelsea," he says to me right before my lips touch his. My tongue comes out to touch his, and all of my fears, thoughts, and everything I thought I knew are forgotten, and the only thing that matters is him and me. One of his hands comes up now, going to my head, tilting it just a bit. The kiss deepens as our tongues fight with each other.

I finally let go of his lips, the both of us looking at each other without saying a word. "Chelsea." He says my name again, and I’m afraid he will tell me this will never happen again. I’m afraid he’s going to tell me the kiss I’ve been waiting for, for the last seven years was a mistake.

"I should check your wound," I tell him, walking away, my hands shaky now. "Lie on the bed." He does what he’s told, and I avoid looking at him. "You popped three stitches," I tell him as the blood drips out.

"I thought so," he says, and I walk over, grabbing a needle.

"I’m going to numb you." I work without making eye contact with him. I wash and stitch him back up. "Now, can you try not to tear them again?"

He just nods his head. "Go shower, and I’m going to go and make breakfast, and we can start the day over." I run out of the room, going to the kitchen, and only when I hear the water start in the bathroom do I let my head hang.

The tension from my whole body slowly leaves me, and my knees buckle when I hear his words over and over in my head, how different one person's life can be from another. I make breakfast in record time, and when he comes out, he moves slower than he did before. "You’re done."

"I am," he says, stopping in front of the island. "We should talk."

"No," I tell him, and his eyes go big. "I think we did enough talking for the day." I swallow, and I grab two plates. "I just have one more thing to say."

"You always have to have the last word." He shakes his head.

"I’m going to make you see the beauty in it." I swallow down the lump forming in my throat, worrying that I might upset him but wanting him to know.

"In what?" he asks, confused.

I put the plates down on the counter. "In the colors of the sunrise."

Chapter 15

Mayson

I watch her put the plates down and look at me, and my heart speeds up when she looks down nervously and then back up again. I don’t know what I’m waiting to hear. "In the colors of the sunrise." It’s a good thing I’m holding on to the counter, or I think my legs would give out. "Every day, we are going to sit outside and watch the beauty of it."

I shake my head, not sure any words can come out over the lump in my throat. My mouth also feels like it’s dry as the desert on a summer day. "Let’s sit and eat," she says, plating eggs, bacon, sausage, and toast.

I walk around the counter to her, and she turns, looking at me. My hand comes up without even thinking about it, and my thumb rubs her chin softly. "I don’t think it’s a good idea," I finally say.

"What exactly isn’t a good idea?" She steps in closer to me, and all I can focus on is her lips. All I want is to taste her again, if only one more time. I move my nose against hers softly, and she moves her head back just a touch. Her hand comes up, and she touches my face, her thumb rubs my lower lip. "Will you kiss me, Mayson?" she asks me in the softest, sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. Her words are like an angel.

I know I shouldn’t. I know deep down that I should turn and walk back