“I bent over backwards for you. I gave you everything—my time, my home, my family. I gave you parts of me I don’t show anyone, just you.” My voice cracks, my chest rising and falling too quickly. “And you gutted me with your words, Amelia. You looked me in the eye and treated me like I was just a contract. A fucking convenience.”
Her tears fall faster, her hands trembling as they gripthe bedrail, but I keep speaking because it’s the truth, even if it tears me apart to say it.
“You don’t get to drop ‘I love you’ after running, after leaving me bleeding in silence, and expect me to act like it didn’t happen. I can’t just un-hear the things you said. I can’t un-feel the way it broke me.”
Silence fills the room—only the monitor beeps, marking every second in the space between us.
And God help me, I still want to reach for her. Still want to wipe her tears, pull her against me, and tell her it’s fine—that I’ll take whatever scraps of her she’ll give me.
But I can’t, not when my heart’s already in pieces at her feet.
So I lie there, staring at her, my chest aching, my smile long gone.
Her grip on the rail tightens, her nails digging into the metal, knuckles turning bone-white. She shakes her head, shoulders trembling, tears flowing so fast she doesn’t bother wiping them away. For a long moment, she just stares at me as if she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her afloat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so fucking sorry, Maverick.”
Her knees hit the edge of the bed, her body folding in on itself. She leans forward, clutching my hand. Her tears fall hot against my skin, soaking into the paper-thin blanket.
“I was scared,” she chokes, voice trembling. “I let fear control me. I let Jax’s ghost creep into my mind and whisper that you’d hurt me too. I convinced myself that pushing you away would hurt less than trusting you'd stay. And in doing so, I hurt you. I gutted you.” Her hand rises, pressing flat against my chest, as if trying to restart my heartbeat with herpalm. Her lips quiver as she whispers, “You gave me everything—and I threw it back in your face.”
Her words break open something deep inside me because it’s the truth. Hearing her admit it hurts me more than the hit on the field ever did.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and glistening, every wall she’s ever hidden behind gone. “But I love you.” The words splinter, soft and desperate. “I love you so much it terrifies me, and I’ll spend every single day proving it to you if that’s what it takes. Please…” Her breath catches, her tears spilling faster.
I feel it—every syllable, every tear—like a knife twisting even deeper.
Because Amelia Hamilton doesn’t beg, she doesn’t grovel. But here she is, torn wide open, clawing for me with everything she’s got.
Fuck me, I want to give in.
I want to pull her into this bed, bury my face in her neck, and tell her that everything is okay. I want to believe that her words are enough to stitch the wound because I love her more than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire life.
But love doesn’t erase the way she gutted me.
My chest rises sharply and unevenly against the machines. “I hear you,” I rasp, my voice heavy with everything I feel. “I believe you. But it doesn’t undo what you did. It doesn’t erase the fact that you looked me in the eye and made me feel like I was nothing but a contract to you.”
Her face tightens as the sob escapes from her chest.
I squeeze her hand because I can’t not. “I bent over backward for you, Amelia. I let you into parts of me I’ve never let anyone touch. I showed you pieces I didn’t even know how to give. And you…” My voice splinters. “You left me bleeding in silence.”
Her shoulders tremble as she presses her forehead against the edge of the bed, her tears soaking the sheet.
I shut my eyes for a second, swallowing against the ache in my throat. When I open them again, I force the words out, even though they feel like they’re tearing me in half. “I can’t just flip a switch and act like it didn’t happen. I need…” My voice falters, but I keep it steady. “I need space.”
She jerks her head up, her eyes wide and wet, the word catching in her throat like she doesn’t understand it. “Space?” she repeats.
The look on her face nearly undoes me right there. It takes everything in me not to reach for her, not to wipe her tears away and say fuck it—because the truth is, all I want is her.
“I’m not saying forever,” I rasp, shaking my head, my hand still trembling against hers. “I’m saying I need time. To breathe. To get past how it felt when you left. To trust that you’re not gonna run the second it gets hard again.”
Her lips part, her shoulders curling in, and seeing it breaks me all over again.
I hate it. I hate seeing her this way. I hate myself for causing that pain on her face. So I lie there, exhausted and in pain, watching her fall apart at my bedside. And for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if I’m making the right call.
She gazes at me for a long moment, her lips trembling, her eyes still wet. The silence lingers until she finally nods.
“Okay,” she whispers, voice frayed. “If that’s what you need, I understand.”
