“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
He flinches, and his grip tightens slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Yeah? Well you did.”
We stand there, chest to chest, breathing hard like we just came off a bender. My dress is wrinkled. My hair’s falling out of its pin. His shirt’s half untucked and there’s fury in his eyes but it’s not just anger. It’s something that looks dangerously close to need.
“So you think going to Vegas and fucking him will make you feel better?”
“I sure do.”
His laugh is low and rough, like gravel in the back of his throat. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here, sugar. ’Cause I’m more than happy to help you work through that list of yours.”
My pulse trips and my jaw tightens.
“You think this is a joke?” I snap, voice shaking. “You think checking boxes with me will somehow undo the way you left me alone in the dark?”
His grip on my arms doesn’t loosen, but something shifts in his eyes like I hit the nerve he keeps buried under bravado and bullshit.
“You think I haven’t been in the dark right there with you?” he growls. “I watched you unravel and pretend you were fine. I saw you smiling through the wreckage and not once did you let me back in.”
“Because you were never in to begin with,” I spit. “You made me feel like I imagined it all. Like we were a daydream I should’ve woken up from sooner.”
His hands slide up to cup my face. It’s not soft, not rough, just desperate. “Phern, I never stopped wanting you.”
“Then why didn’t you choose me?” I whisper. “Why was it always almost?”
Silence. Sharp and suffocating.
Then, so softly it nearly breaks me, he says, “Because if I chose you, I knew I’d never survive losing you.”
My breath catches.
His thumb brushes under my eye, over a tear I didn’t feel fall.
“And now?” I ask, voice barely there.
His gaze drops to my mouth, his chest rising hard and slow. “Now I’d rather lose everything than let you walk away thinking you’re forgettable.”
He leans in, mouth a breath from mine.
“You’re not a box on a list, Phern. You’re the whole goddamn thing.”
For a long, aching second, neither of us moves.
Then his mouth is on mine. He kisses me like he’s starving and gentle at the same time like he doesn’t know whether to worship me or fall apart in my hands. My fingers slide into his hair, pulling him closer, chasing the only thing that’s felt real in weeks. I don’t realize I’m crying until his thumbs brush the tears from my cheeks, his mouth still moving over mine like he’s memorizing it.
He pulls back slightly, breath ragged. “If we do this… I need to know it’s what you want.”
“I’ve only ever wanted you,” I whisper.
That does something to him.
His whole body shifts, tightens, softens. “You tell me when to stop,” he says, voice hoarse. “I mean it. Anytime.”
I nod, eyes burning. “Okay.”
