“Blame yourself for what that piece of shit did.”
She wanted to ask him how tostopblaming herself, but the words never made it out, because she had a feeling that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change her mind.
“What got you into writing romance books?”
Her brows flickered. He was asking her about work? She nibbled her bottom lip before lifting a shoulder. “I love to read. It led me to study creative writing. One of our assignments was to write a chapter of a story. The only guideline we had was that it had to be emotional. I finished the assignment, but then I couldn’t stop. I kept writing until I had a complete book. I remember I couldn’t believe how easy it felt, like I’d finally found what I was supposed to do with my life.”
“And then you published it?”
“I did. I decided to self-publish because I thought, why not…and people read it. So I did it again. And people read that one too. That’s when I figured out that I could actually be a writer. There’s a bit more to it than that, with editing and cover design and marketing, but that’s the simple, condensed version.”
“Why romance?”
“So many reasons. The guaranteed happy ending. The ability to create flawed characters who fall in love. The escapism.”
“Have you ever written a character based on you?”
Despite everything, she laughed. “Maybe a funnier, more put-together version of me.”
“I can’t see how that’s possible.”
She almost snorted.
His gaze was intense as it beamed into her. “So you must believe in love.”
“I stopped believing for a while after Dylan.” Her gaze returned to her cocoa. She watched the steam swirl into the air. “I think that’s why I couldn’t write for so long. It felt pointless, like I was writing about a type of man who didn’t exist. A love that seemedsofictional, it felt forced when I read my work back.”
His brows slashed together but he didn’t say anything, just waited, like he knew she had more to say.
“It wasn’t just my writing that he affected. What he did to me affected so many facets of my life. For a while, I lost faith in my own judgment.” She looked up, that old familiar regret tightening her chest. “Ilikedhim at the start. I didn’t see what I should have seen. I thought…” She laughed, but there was no humor. “I thought he was a good guy. How stupid was I?”
Jesse slipped her mug from her fingers and set it onto the coffee table. She gasped in surprise when he reached over and easily lifted her onto his lap so her legs straddled him.
“You’re not stupid. Men like Dylan make hiding their true colors an art form. They have to. Otherwise, they’d have no one to prey on.” He cupped her cheek. “You’d have never seen that part of him until he wanted you to.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. It felt big and painful. “But if I hadn’t fallen for his act, then none of this would be happening, and Margot—”
“It’snotyour fault.”
The way he said it, with so much conviction, made herwantto believe it. And it lifted a bit of that suffocating weight from her chest.
She pressed her palms to his chest. “I think it was you.”
“What was?”
“You restored my faith in love.”
His eyes darkened. Then his hand slipped behind her neck as he kissed her. There was nothing sexual about the kiss. It was comfort. Calm. And maybe something else. Something deeper…more healing.
The second their mouths parted, she pressed her head to his chest, right over his heart, while his arms wrapped tightly around her. Somewhere along the way, he’d become her safety. And right now, he felt like the only thing keeping her head above water.
CHAPTER 27
Jesse shot a glance at Luke behind the wheel. They were driving to a callout and his friend was quiet.Hadbeenquiet for the last week, since Margot was shot and killed.
“How are you doing, Luke? And tell me the truth. I don’t care if it’s messy.”
Luke’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have a right to be upset. We weren’t in a relationship. She wasn’t my girlfriend. She wasn’t my anything.”
