Unbroken

know, I just have to make it a little further to shelter, safe from the winds.
    And then I see it: the distant flash of blue. Emerson’s truck, in the driveway.
    My heart leaps.
    I fly down the rest of the road, skidding in the mud as I race up the drive. “Emerson!” I scream, my voice lost in the wind. “Where are you?!”
    I try the front door, but the house is still locked tight like I left it. I circle the house, wondering where he could possibly be. Then I see the door to my photography shed flung wide open. I race over, just as Emerson emerges.
    He’s soaked through, fighting against the storm, clutching a box and handfuls of my black and white prints that scatter and whip across the yard in the wind.
    “Emerson!” I cry.
    He looks up, and his jaw goes slack as he sees me.
    “Jules!” he yells back, struggling to be heard. “What the hell are you doing here? You need to get inside, now!”
    I shake my head, coming closer. “I know!” I scream. “About my mom, and the letter. I know why you left!”
    Emerson goes still. He stares at me, rain dripping down from his hair and running down the strong, chiseled planes of his face. His eyes meet mine, and I see realization flare, deep in those beautiful blue pools.
    “I know everything!” I yell again. “It’s why you left me, isn’t it? Because she asked you to.”
    Emerson closes his eyes a moment, and when he opens them, the fierce devotion there takes my breath away. “She was right!” he tells me, “You deserve more than this!”
    “Stop saying that!” I yell. I lunge forwards, taking hold of his arms, gripping him tight as I stare intently up at him. His skin is chilled, but the body beneath that soaking shirt is hot, radiating a warmth that burns right through me.
    “I love you!” I yell, pouring my heart into every syllable. “All I ever wanted is you! I came back for you, I won’t let you push me away again. I still love you!”
    Emerson stares back at me, his expression gripped with anguish. I can see the war raging in his eyes between the truth he’s told himself for so long, and everything I’m saying now.
    “You don’t mean it,” he shakes his head, trying to break away. “You can’t!”
    “I do!” I yell, holding him tighter. The storm is raging around us, and I’m wet through, but it’s nothing compared to the whirlwind of emotions beating hard in my chest. “Believe me!” I insist, blinking rain and tears from my eyes. “You made the choice for me, four years ago. Well this is my choice!”
    “Tell me!” I demand, so close now. “Tell me how you feel, for real this time. No lies! Because whatever happens, I’m yours. I’ll always be yours!”
    This time, my words break through. I see the last defenses in his eyes come crashing down. With a growl, Emerson throws the box to the side and sweeps me into his arms.
    “I love you.” Emerson chokes out, his voice thick with passion. “I never stopped loving you! Not even when you were gone, not one single day.”
    His lips crash against mine with the force of a thousand hurricanes as he clutches my body against his chest, tangling his fingers through my wet hair, and claiming me with a heart-stopping, life-changing, all-consuming kiss.
    I cling to him with everything I have, opening my mouth to him, drowning in the dizzy sensation of his mouth on mine. The storm fades around us, until he’s the only thing left in the world. I can hear nothing but the thunder of our heartbeats, feel only his arms locked tight around me; taste only him.
    He’s mine.
    Emerson surrounds me, enfolds me, and I give him everything, showing him the depth of my emotions until we surface, gasping.
    “You came back for me…” Emerson whispers, full of wonder. He cups my face with infinite tenderness, a look of sheer amazement in his eyes. “I can’t believe you came back for me.”
    “Always!” I promise fiercely.
    I reach for him again, but suddenly, there’s a deafening crack, and a shot of lightening splinters from the sky, hitting one of the trees in the yard.
    “Get back!” Emerson yells, hurling himself in front of me and pushing us back. The tree sounds a creak, and then falls, slamming to the ground just inches from where we were standing.
    I clutch him in panic.
    “Into the house!” Emerson orders.
    “The storm cellar!” I yell. “This way, come on!”
    “But your photos…” Emerson looks around. The prints are whipping in the wind around us, confetti in the