Always There

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty

Songs for this chapter:
• 2002 - Anne-Marie

Chapter One Hundred and Thirty:

Bryce's POV

I deposit a sopping-wet Blossom onto one of the couches in the living room. If Dad wants to have a fit about the water ruining the sofa, we can schedule it for a later date.

"I know you have a flair for the dramatic, but we aren't in a movie. We could've had that conversation inside, where it's warm and dry," I tease, pulling my damp sweatshirt up over my head and tossing it on the floor behind me.

Blossom smiles up at me sweetly, a twinkle in her eyes that could make me forgive any wrong she's ever done. "Oops."

I snort and reach for Blossom's sweatshirt too. She lets me pull it up and over her head, but after it joins my sweatshirt on the floor, I recall that all she had on underneath the sweater was a bra. She shrinks back into the couch cushions, insecure, and folds her arms across her chest to hide.

I frown and pull my T-shirt off. I hold it out towards her. "Put this on. It even smells like me. Lucky little lady."

Blossom beams up at me. She gingerly takes my shirt from me and pulls it down over her head before reaching out for me and pressing one of her open palms flat against my abdomen.

"Lucky, indeed," she whispers with a small, sweet smile.

I gingerly take a seat down on the couch beside her. When I lay one of my hands atop her thigh with my palm opened upwards, she sets her hand on top and slips her fingers through mine.

With my free hand, I reach for her chin and tilt her so that she's looking directly at me. "I missed hearing your voice. Will you tell me how you've been? Malcolm and James said you were doing well, but it would make me very happy to hear it from you."

Blossom tilts her head to the side. Her eyes are sparkling when they meet mine. "I've been doing really well, actually."

One of my eyebrows raises. "Is that so?"

An enthusiastic nod of Blossom's head. "Yes. I've been eating lots. And I'm happy. Really, really happy. I love my job, and it feels as though all my dreams are coming true. I've wanted to play Christine on Broadway for almost my whole life, and it sometimes still doesn't feel real that I get to do it now. Everything feels . . . almost perfect. My life is so, so close to perfect. But then Dad got into the accident, and you're . . . you're still . . ." She takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then slowly exhales. "You're still not mine. And I can't stand it."

I can't help but to shake my head. "Blossom. Don't be ridiculous."

She frowns at me. "What did I say that seems ridiculous to you?"

"That I'm not yours? I've always been yours, Blossom. I thought you knew that."

She simply stares at me, with those huge brown eyes, and all I can do is stare back.

Until she leans in and kisses me fiercely.

A surprised sound leaves my throat, muffled by her mouth against mine. Her hands reach for my shoulders, fingertips and nails digging into the skin, and when her hands can't find anything to grab onto they slide up into my hair and begin to fist on the strands closest to my neck.

Oh my God. I missed this. Missed her lips on mine and her hands all over me. Missed the way her fingertips dance across my skin, the way her nails dig in as though she's scared to let go, the way her hands never settle in one place for too long like she's trying to touch every square inch of my skin.