“You didn’t ruin me,” I whisper finally. “You just broke my heart.”
His breath catches. “That’s worse.”
He’s standing so close now I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Holt…” I start, but the words blur.
He shakes his head slowly. “You were perfect, Lila. Still are. That’s what kills me.”
I swallow hard. “And what now? You decide I’m old enough to handle you?”
He flinches, but doesn’t look away. “No. I didn’t decide anything. I just… never left the mountains. Couldn’t. After that night, I couldn’t face the world down there. So I stayed up here. Out past the ridge. Alone.”
“Alone,” I repeat, and the word hits like cold air in my lungs.
He drags a hand over his face. Then, yesterday. Thought I was imagining things at first. But there you were, so tough out there in the wind, calling that damn cat—and I knew it could only be you. And suddenly every reason I had for staying away stopped mattering.”
The words sink deep.
“My showing up doesn’t fix anything,” he says.
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t.”
“But I couldn’t live another night thinking you were out there facing everything I caused alone.”
His voice coarsens. “I left because you were too young, too perfect, and I was… wrong in ways I didn’t know how to explain. I said it was for you. But it was for me. I was protecting myself from wanting what I wasn’t supposed to have.”
My heart pounds. “And now?”
His eyes flicker, molten. “Now I know wanting you isn’t the problem. Thinking I deserve you is.”
My breath leaves me.
He doesn’t move closer, not yet. Just stands there, chest rising and falling, waiting for something—permission, maybe, or courage.
I step toward him before I realize I’m doing it. My fingers brush his sleeve.
“I hated you,” I whisper. “For leaving.”
“I hated myself,” he says. “Every day since.”
The air between us is electric.
His hand lifts—hesitates—then cups my face, thumb soft against my cheek. My breath catches.
“You have no idea how much I’ve longed for this,” he says, voice frayed.
I swallow hard. “Then why are you holding back?”
“Because I won’t take what you don’t give.”
I don’t breathe. My pulse beats against his thumb.
“I’m not holding back,” I whisper.
A low sound escapes him. He leans in—slow at first, breath grazing my mouth.
I tilt my chin up.
