He doesn’t even try to wipe them away. He’s caught in the riptide of what he wants and what he believes I need. When he finally opens his red-rimmed eyes, his pupils are huge, swallowing the silver.
“Yes,” he says hoarsely. “If that’s what you truly want, Ruby. I’d do it.”
Don’t buy it. Don’t buy it. Don’t— “God,” I breathe. “You really would, wouldn’t you?”Even if it kills you.
“Even if it kills me,” he echoes.
And I realize I said the last part out loud.
A broken laugh slips out of me, dizzy and disbelieving, because the truth glitters there in his eyes, painful and undeniable.
“Come here,” I whisper.
Six-foot-three of tattooed, beautiful, devastated rockstar moves like I summoned him with a spell. He drops to his knees in front of me, hands gripping my hips, eyes shining with hope and terror.
“We need to have a serious conversation about boundaries,” I say quietly.
He nods immediately. “Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want, baby.”
I laugh, a shaky, cracked sound. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
He flinches.
“I love this baby,” I continue, voice trembling. “I can’t wait to meet him or her or they or whatever the universe is cooking up for us. But I would’ve loved to have had a say in when they were conceived.”
His face collapses with guilt.
“So no more knocking me up behind my back,” I say, wiping my face. “Which, by the way, doesn’t even make sense. But neither does my life with you, so whatever.”
He lets out a broken, choked sound that half laugh, half snort. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right,” he whispers.
And damn it, against all logic and better judgment, a tiny traitorous part of me actually believes the unhinged bastard.
God help me.
26
AFTER THE RUIN, US
RUBY
Zane stays on his knees in front of me for a long moment, breathing like he’s trying to relearn how, staring at me like I just handed him the universe and told him it was his to keep.
“I fucking love you, Ruby.”
Tears flow faster as I slide my fingers into his hair. “Oh God…Zane.”
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making this right,” he repeats, voice low, rough, reverent.
My heart squeezes painfully. “Then start by listening, okay?”
He nods instantly,too instantly,like he’s ready to carve the words into his bones.
My thumbs stroke his face, still wet from tears, still open in a way that guts me. He leans into my touch with a small, broken sound that shouldn’t undo me but does.
“I want a say,” I whisper. “In everything. Where we live. How we do this. When we do anything. You don’t get to steamroll my life because you’re scared of losing me.”
His throat works hard. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Whatever you want.”
