Page 113 of Misguided

“For this. For you.” He squeezes my hand again, only this time his grip doesn’t relax. “You make the shit bearable, you know? You even the scales.”

“I don’t know …” I look to the road as I try to think of why he’d see it that way.

I gave him nothing but trouble when I first got back, threw a hissy fit at him because of my own inability to voice how I felt about him, and then have done nothing since but be myself. Be the person I’d hope to have by my side.

“You do,” Dog presses. “Hey. Look at me.”

I turn my head his way once more as he does the same, his eyes flicking to and from the road as he tries to hold my gaze best he can. “Nothing my dad says could make me feel bad about myself anymore and you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t give stock to what he says. I don’t give a shit about his opinion anymore because the only one that matters now, is yours, and you love me. That’s enough for me. That’s the only opinion I need to know.”

“I do love you,” I whisper.

“And I love you, babe.”

He doesn’t say anymore as he returns his gaze to the road, simply holding my hand the rest of the drive home. It’s the most treasured I’ve felt since the men who mean the most in my life—Daddy and Hooch—watched me climb on the back of a bike knowing that if they wanted me safe, they’d have to risk never seeing me again.

The most precious.

The most loved.