“Maybe you should ask yourself why neither of us asked for a divorce. I was there at the reading of the will. Nowhere did it say you had tostaymarried.”
“You’re not being fair, Wes.” She jerked free from my grip and headed to the gold bar cart against the wall. Glasses clinked as she focused on selecting the right one. “You were in a relationship just one week ago. You won’t tell me what happened no matter how many times I ask, and then you show up without warning. Now you’re telling me you like me—”
“Loveyou.” It wasn’t supposed to be like this. But I needed her to know. I couldn’t let her keep thinking all I did was like her. I was done avoiding it. Dancing around it when we both know it’s true.
She was the only person I ever loved. The only person I could ever imagine loving.
“And you expect me to believe it?” Avery gestured with the hand holding the bottle, tipping it at angle so wine spilled onto the floor. The deep color made it look like a pool of fresh blood. “You could have said something.”
“You didn’t want anyone to know about the wedding. We kissed, and it fucking rocked my world. Then the next day, it was like nothing had happened. We went on an entire fucking tour—and nothing. Every chance I got, I was right there with you. I thought it was obvious,” I told her, each word coming out faster than the last. “Some days, I think we’re inevitable and others… Well, sometimes I think I’ll go to my grave wanting you.”
“What a waste,” she said, looking up as if she suddenly decided to pray.
“Yeah, you’re right. I wasted so many kisses on people who didn’t deserve them when they all belonged to you.”
Glass rattled as she set the wine on the bar cart. Thunder cracked and the lights flickered. When they turned back on, she was directly in front of me.
“Then stop making me wait, Gaflin.” Slowly, she reached for me, fingers feather light on the ridge of my collarbone. “From how I see it, you’re fresh out of excuses. Kis—”
Before she could finish, my mouth crashed into hers. Her palm slid up to my neck and dug into my hair. It wasn’t soft or tender. It was a fucking exorcism. The torture of so many years not being together, expelling in a frenzied burst.
Every sensation was brilliantly acute, like walking into the blinding midday sun after being in a dark building. I’d grown used to darkness and was stepping into the light.
Her nails dragged against my scalp and her legs hitched around my waist. I palmed her ass through her jeans. I wanted to tear them off, feel all of her pressed against me. I pulled at her plush bottom lip with my teeth, earning a low needy sound from deep in her throat. The wine was rich and velvety as it lingered on her tongue.
Wine. I was assaulted by the familiar flavor, and my stomach lurched. My pulse started to race and it took me a moment to feel the panic rising, consuming the ecstasy and turning it rancid.
I stumbled, setting her down.
“Wes?” She asked, questioning hazel eyes darting over my face.
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t do this. Not like this,” I said in gasps.
She scrambled away. “Was it something I did? I’m sorry. I’m not good at this.”
“It’s not you. I promise, it’s not you.” I told her, grabbing her waist, daring to touch her, using her as my sole tether to reality. “Jesus. You’re perfect. I don’t want to do this drunk. Fuck. I don’t want to do this too fast.”
When it happened with us, it wasn’t supposed to be an escape. I was supposed to be sober so I could crystalize each moment, every inch of her skin. I was a mess, but it was starting to seem like that’s all I’d ever be. That was it. But if I was sober, it would be fine.
“Okay.” She stepped back, biting her lip. “Sleep next to me tonight?”
I nodded, trailing her to the bedroom with its four-poster bed and cloud-like blankets. We laid facing each other, the tips of our noses brushing each time we shifted.
“I need to go slow,” I whispered. For all my grand declarations, I couldn’t follow through. It shouldn’t matter because it was her touching me, but my body kept score of other memories I was desperate to erase.
Her fingers found mine over the covers, the pad of her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. “Slow is good. Why skip the good parts? We’re in no rush. Be romantic with me. Be gentle. I don’t want us to break each other’s hearts.” Her words brushed over my cheeks in a caress. “If you want to know why I didn’t do anything after Vegas, it’s because I’ve lost so much. I don’t know if I’d survive losing you.”
“Never. Not even after Avery Sloane and Wesley Hart are just names on old CDs, too scratched up to listen to.”
29
Avery
December 2025
Irest my forehead against the cool glass of the car window as we drive down the poorly maintained road to George’s house, spotted with ice patches and potholes.
It’s been an exhausting week finishing up the final shows before the extended holiday break. Even before people posted my confession in my grandparents’ kitchen, Wes and I were being faced with endless questions. But that was nothing compared to this. We were relegated to the hotel and the concert venues while crowds of people lobbed questions at us. Yet, I wouldn’t take it back, not for anything in the world.
