Blow A Kiss, Fire A Gun | TH

Chapter twenty

Italics are flashbacks!

Twelve days you spent in the hospital. That was Twelve days of hospital food, needles, bucket loads of medications, having to be escorted everywhere and sitting in a lonely bed when you'd grown so used to sharing one with someone. There was no one to tug the blankets off in the middle of the night, no muscular arms making there way around your waist and no incoherent groans damn near midnight.

It was also twelve days of nightmares from the incident and twelve days of thinking about Tom, asking yourself over and over if you were making the right choice by leaving.

"So, because you got me the ring, does that mean that we can have a proper wedding?"

Tom moves onto his side so that he could see you smiling from ear to ear, white sheets pulled up above your bare torso. He smiles softly. "Do you want one?"

You nodded. "I mean, it'd feel more official."

"I've never thought about a wedding before."

"It'd be nice!" you try to convince him, using the hand with the diamond ring on it to push your hair behind your ears. "We could invite your whole family, and my dad can come and Haz can be your best man."

Tom felt his heartbeat pick up when he thought about it. "You can get all dressed up in a nice dress and I can wear one of those highly uncomfortable monkey suits." He laughs. "There'd probably be a lot of dancing and food, lots of food." You stare dreamily at him, eyes filled with adoration. "Then afterwards, we'll go somewhere nice like Bora Bora and I can make love to you while we listen to the water."

You smacked his chest gently, your cheeks heating up. "Dirty man."

He smirks and rolls on top of you, lips ghosting over yours ever so slightly. "Maybe we can go to Paris too, I know how badly you want to see the Eiffel tower, princess."

"Paris sounds lovely." You were on cloud nine, the angels practically singing as he pressed light, feathery kisses down your neck, hands trailing down your body.

"Then Tahiti, I heard that's a popular honeymoon place." He slides down your body, already picturing your face, eyes screwed shut, lips open partially. "How does Italy sound, baby girl?"

Your mouth opens when he pops his head underneath the covers, your legs spreading instinctively and his hands went straight to your hips. "I-Italy sounds perfect."

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Tom had personally spent those Twelve days redecorating and taking back every ounce of power he once held. But of course, when he was alone in his room at night with the curtains drawn and duvet pulled up to his chest he felt lonely. His fingers would often reach for his cell phone, where he'd flick to his contacts and his fingers would type out a lengthy text before they'd hover over the send button.

But he never sent those texts, not a single one.

His fingers ghosted over the keys. Tom's mind was running wild, the gears turning at an extreme pace as he typed. Words-, sentences, statements sat before him.

'I'm sorry.'

'I can change.'

'I'll leave the business if it means you'll come home to me.'

Tom was never a fan of cheesy quotes, they made him cringe and screw his face up in distaste, but he fully believed in the line 'If you love something, set it free and if it comes back, then it was meant to be.'