“What’s in that f**king head of yours?” he asked when we were lying side-by-side, face-to-face, our bodies touching.

“I… you… well…” I stopped then started again, “it’s pretty clear you’re the kind of guy who has to have sex, um… a lot of it and, um… we can’t have sex anymore.”

“Why can’t we have sex anymore?”

“Well,” I started and halted. Did I really have to explain it?

I looked at him. He was glaring at me.

I guessed I did.

“I’m kind of gross,” I finished.

“Gross?”

“Yes, gross.”

“How are you gross?”

Now I was getting pissed. “I can’t believe you’re gonna make me spell it out for you,” I snapped.

His hand moved, it went down over my hip then up under my shirt then both his arms wrapped around me. “He could have blown off half your face, you survived, you’d still be lyin’ beside me.”

I blinked.

He didn’t pause for me to wrap my head around that mind-blowing statement, he went on. “One of those bullets could have torn through your spinal cord, you’d be lyin’ beside me.”

Oh my God.

His arms got tighter, pressing my body against his and his face came super-close. “This is it. You and me. No matter what,” he said.

“Crowe –” I whispered, so stunned, so moved, I thought my heart had to have stopped beating.

“No matter what,” he said, his voice fierce and strong and rumbling through me. “You told me I was home to you and I get it. You’re home to me. I’ve never had a home. I like the one I found and I’m not losin’ it. No matter what.”

I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to but I started crying. It wasn’t the wracking-loud-sobs kind of crying, it was the tears-filling-your-eyes-and-spilling-over-silently kind of crying.

He watched me cry and didn’t say a word, he just held me close.

“You… you said…” I stammered, “if I ever changed my body –”

“Show me,” he murmured, his voice and eyes had grown soft.

I stopped crying immediately and said, “What?”

“Show me, Princess.”

I stared at him for what seemed like ages knowing exactly what he meant.

His mouth came to mine and he said again, “Show me.”

I sucked in a breath in an attempt to buy time to decide if I had the courage to show him. Then, deciding I did, in fact I had to, I pulled away and he let me go. He pushed down the covers, I pulled up the t-shirt and I closed my eyes.

I opened them again when I felt his mouth on me.

It moved, touching my scars gently, his hands roaming my sides, h*ps and then he pushed me on my back.

Then he came up, kissing the scar at my chest then he moved his mouth to my br**sts, spending a lot more time there, first at one then the other. It felt great and I totally forgot how gross I was.

Then his mouth went lower. Then lower. Then he rolled between my legs and his mouth was there.

That’s when I really totally forgot how gross I was.

After awhile he pulled off my panties and made me come with his mouth.

It was f**king fantastic.

He rolled to his back, I got on top of him and wrapped my hand around him.

“Jules, you don’t –” he started but I leaned down and kissed him quiet.

Then I guided him inside me and moved on top of him. I took my time mainly because I’d just had an orgasm so I had all the time in the world, not to mention it felt really good.

Vance wasn’t really into slow though. I figured he’d taken care of himself somewhere along the way but maybe I was wrong. He got impatient and sat up, his hands at my h*ps coaxing me to go faster. They slid up my sides and his eyes locked on mine.

“I wanna take off your shirt,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I shook my head.

He kissed me deep and hard.

Then he repeated, “I wanna take off your shirt.”

I was a bit muddled from the kiss so I said, “Okay.”

Gently, he pulled the t-shirt over my head.

His mouth was at my chest, my scar, my br**sts, his hands pressing in to make me arch my back and expose myself to him. I moved faster, faster and he tipped his head back. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my face down to his and he kissed me right before he came.

I guess he wasn’t grossed out by my body.

* * * * *

We had Christmas at Nick’s, just Vance, Nick and me.

I gave Nick tickets to an upcoming Springsteen concert. I gave Vance this kickass choker with a thick, braided leather band and two small, silver medallions at the front, one of an eagle and one of a buffalo. He tied it on and usually I didn’t like jewelry on guys but that leather and silver on him looked hot.

Nick stole my bracelet while I was recovering and had three more links put in. One with an emerald, for Nick which days later I found out signifies goodness, fidelity and love; one with a blue topaz, for me which signifies sincerity, courage and wisdom (and when I read this out to Vance and Nick, Nick said, “Don’t know about that last one,” a comment which Vance thought was so funny, he threw back his head and laughed, which meant I had to try and tackle him but he just caught me, swung me up in his arms and kept right on laughing, his face buried in my neck); and also one with a pearl, for Vance which signifies nobility, beauty and peace.

How’s that for perfect?

Of course I burst into sloppy tears when I opened it, which pissed me off because I seemed to be crying all the time those days but Vance pulled me into his lap and held me until I was done crying, which, head crackin’ mamma jamma that I was, I still had to admit was super nice.

Zip dropped a gift by Nick’s. It was gun holster with a note attached that said “Just in case’. I laughed my ass off. Vance and Nick didn’t think this was funny (at all).

We had Christmas dinner at my place because I had a better dining room table.

I cooked dinner while Nick looked worried and Vance looked amused mainly because I banged around and cursed a lot through this process.

I’d been practicing cooking at Vance’s cabin while I was recovering and wasn’t doing too badly. However the Christmas pork tenderloin somehow ended up kinda raw. I swore to both of them it was not my fault, it had to be my stupid oven. Then Nick asked me what temperature I cooked it on and I said, “One fifty, like it says in the cookbook.”

Nick got the cookbook and showed me it said three fifty which I guess proved it wasn’t the oven.