And then I panic. I push his hands away, and pull back from his kiss.

"What's wrong?"

I swallow the knot in my throat and look away, but his hand on my chin turning me to him doesn't let me stay there for long.

"Babe?"

I try not to cry. I try not to ruin the moment. I really do. But I can't hold it in.

"Hey," he soothes, wrapping me in his arms and rubbing circles in my back. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I have a scar," I whisper. "And it's ugly."

Gently, he grasps my shoulders so he can push me away and look in my eyes. "Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head, feeling small and insecure.

He looks away and releases a breath. "I don't know what to say," he admits. "I don't know how to make you feel better about that. All I can say is that I think you're beautiful, every single inch of you—scar or not. And if there's a way that I could prove it, I would. If you feel self-conscious about it, you don't have to show me, but I'd like to see it. It kind of belongs to both of us, don't you think?"

I inhale a confident breath and slowly take my top off. His eyes stay on mine. Then slowly, he flips us over until I'm on my back, and he kisses me. First my mouth, and then down my neck. His tongue darts out, leaving a trail between my breasts. He unhooks my bra, and slowly pulls the straps down each arm. His eyes focus on my breasts. "Beautiful," he murmurs, before paying them individual attention with his mouth. His tongue. His teeth. I close my eyes and let him take me in. His hands tug at my skirt until it's over my hips and down my legs. He kisses my stomach, down to my belly button. Tears fall from my closed eyes when I anticipate his next move—when he sees the ugly scar that mars my so-called-beautiful body. My breath catches when I feel his lips there, an inch above my pubic bone. He places open mouth kisses along the length of it; all four inches. He takes his time, letting my body shake with the sobs that I can't contain. "You're beautiful, Lucy," he croaks. And I cry harder. But he doesn't stop with the kisses, he moves further down my body, removing my panties, my suspenders and my stockings all in one move. He stands at the end of the sofa, his eyes burning with lust. He licks his lips, before dipping his head between my legs.

It doesn't take long for me to come. Not once. Not twice. But three times—just from his mouth alone. "You gotta be quiet," he chuckles. "This is public space."

"Shut up," I tell him. "Get naked."

He laughs, but he does what I ask. Then he climbs on top of me and positions himself. "I'm gonna make love to you now," he says into my neck. "And I'm going to do it right this time."

"Okay," I moan, running a hand down his back. "And after we make love, can you screw me?"

He stifles his laugh with my neck.

"And then after you screw me, can you fuck me?"

He slams inside me without warning. And then his body tenses and he looks up. "Shit, Luce, I didn't even ask. Are you... I mean... can we?"

"I'm on the pill." I kiss him passionately, tasting myself on his tongue... feeling him get even bigger inside of me. "Now make love to me so we can get to the kinky shit."

CHAPTER FORTY

-CAMERON-

I don't like to think that Lucy and I broke up last summer. I say that we just restarted—created a new round of firsts. Everything else is the same as it has always been. I have more spare time now that I'm not working at the firm, and I can take it a little easier because there isn't the pressure of a scholarship weighing on me.

A few weeks ago, Logan came back. He still won't really talk about what happened, but he's happy. And I know the main reason is because of Amanda.

Lucy's happy too, she got two of her best friends back. And me—I'm just happy that she's happy.

She called me crying once after the girls had book club. She asked that I come over right away. Of course, I did. She said that she told Amanda about us—about not being able to have any children. She said it was the first time she's really told anybody straight out. She hasn't told Rose, and Micky and Jake knew because they were at the hospital. But Micky didn't really understand how, or why, but she never asked. She said that she explained it in detail to them, and they all sat there and cried. It was emotionally exhausting for all of them. Amanda asked if Logan knew, she told her that he didn't, but that she could tell him. So we were both expecting the knock that came on her door a couple hours later. He stood with his hands in his pockets and his head lowered. She said his name and he looked up at her, eyes red from his own tears. He didn't speak; he just wrapped his arms around her. It could've been minutes; it could've been hours. He looked past her and to me, sitting on her bed feeling everything she did. He told me he was sorry and that things would be okay, and that he'd be there for me if I ever needed anything—and he said all of that without ever speaking a word. Lucy hugged him back. I don't know if it was for her or for him.

When he was ready he pulled away, nodded once at her, and then shoved his hands back in his pockets and left. She closed the door after him, laid down in bed with me, and then she said something I'd been thinking about since the day we found out about the miscarriage. "What do you think she would have looked like?"

We spent the rest of the night talking about her. Talking about our Hope. It was a moment of clarity, and a moment of healing. And like every other night, we declared our love for each other and we fell asleep in each other's arms. And the next morning, we woke up, and we moved on.