“Well, I gathered that,” I snark, a sneer painting my lips.
His hand squeezes lightly against my thigh, grounding. “You need to understand what she was to me. And what she wasn’t.”
I don’t move, don’t breathe. I wait.
He drags a slow breath, like he’s measuring every word before he lets it go. “When we were kids, there was talk between our families when my grandfather was still in charge. About an engagement. Nothing set in stone, but… it was there. A possibility.”
My stomach dips. I don’t know what I expected, but not that. It’s so archaic and medieval. It’s something you read about in historical romance, not something that takes place in real life.
He notices, because of course he does. His thumb brushes higher along my thigh, gentle, coaxing. “My father put a stop to it when I was fifteen. He didn’t want it. I didn’t either by that time. But Melanie—she didn’t take it well.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
“She wanted me,” he continues quietly. “Any way she could have me. So for a while, she was… there. Convenient. Stress relief when I needed it.” His jaw tightens, but his eyes don’t waver from mine. “But I never loved her. Not once. And I told her that.”
My chest squeezes at the rawness in his tone. He’s not sugarcoating it, not painting himself as better than he was. He’s laying it out like he expects me to see the worst and walk away.
Instead, I whisper, “And she stayed anyway?”
A shadow flickers through his expression—regret, maybe, or simply the sharp truth of it. “She stayed. Kept hoping she could make me change my mind. But I never did. I couldn’t give her what she wanted, Peyton. I never wanted to.”
The honesty in his voice steals my breath. There’s no apology, not really, but there’s no pride either. Only truth.
And God help me, it feels heavier than if he’d said he loved her once. Because this? This is colder. Cleaner. Final.
I press my lips together, staring at his chest instead of his eyes, because I don’t know what to say to that.
He tilts my chin back up until I have no choice but to meet him again. “She was never anything more than that. You understand?”
I nod, slow, but inside my thoughts are tumbling. Because understanding doesn’t erase the questions. It makes me want to know where that leaves me.
“You went to her tonight,” I tell him, owing him the truth in how vulnerable he made me feel in front of his friends. “Chose her over me in an instant. I know you owed her an explanation but… in that moment it felt as if you chose her comfort over mine.”
His jaw works once, like he’s biting back the instinct to argue. Then, slowly, he eases down onto the mattress beside me. The dip of the bed pulls me subtly toward him, but he doesn’t touch me yet. Not until I let him.
“I didn’t choose her,” he says finally, voice rough but low, steady. “I chose keeping the peace in a room full of people who don’t know when to mind their own business. She showed up like that on purpose, little star. Tears, fire in her eyes, ready to make a scene. And if I’d ignored her, it would’ve been worse—for you.”
His gaze pins me, unblinking. “I needed her out of that room before she opened her mouth and made you the target of her anger. That’s why I took her hand. That’s why I walked her out. Not because she means a damn thing to me.”
The words sink in slow, like stones dropped in deep water.
I want to believe him. And God, the way his voice roughens at the end, like he’s daring me not to, makes it hard not to. But thesharp familiar sting lingers. The sting of being second choice of being shifted aside for someone else’s comfort.
“You made me sit there and watch,” I murmur.
That’s when his hand finally finds mine. His thumb brushes across my knuckles, slow. “You think I wanted to? You think I didn’t feel every pair of eyes in that room on you, waiting to see if you’d break?” His lips twitch. “You didn’t. You sat there and owned it. That’s what they’ll remember. Not her.”
Something unknots in my chest, but it doesn’t ease the ache completely.
“Peyton.” My name is a low command, a tether. He waits until I meet his gaze again. “You need to stop looking at me like I’ve got one foot out the door. I told you—Melanie was never mine. She wanted the ring, the title, the story. I never gave it to her, because it wasn’t hers to have.”
His hand leaves mine, sliding up to my jaw again, holding me steady. “You want to know where you stand? I haven’t made room in my life for anyone in a long time. Not since before all this shit with my family blew up. But I cleared space for you before I even asked if you were staying. That should tell you what you need to know.”
The words burn, sharp and slow, winding themselves into me in ways I’m not sure I can undo.
34
Colter was up longbefore the sun rose through the windows. He’d kissed me goodbye before striding out the bedroom door to start work for the day. I’d immediately fallen back to sleep, waking when the alarm on my phone went off.
