Nausea rises.Hands ball into fists.
Who the fuck do you think you are?!
James’s voice echoes.
A sob bursts out.I grip the front of the wig, fingers tangling in synthetic strands.Chest heaving with each painful breath, I peel it off, exposing my blonde hair.My eyes squeeze shut as tears track down my face.
A floorboard creaks.
My eyes snap open.
Matthew stands in the doorway.His reflection stares back at me from the mirror, brow furrowed.
Shame swells, hot and suffocating.
I turn to face him, the wig balled in my fist.
He approaches me slowly.Features serious.
He reaches for the wig.
I let him take it.
Without sparing it a glance, he tosses it onto the bed and closes the distance between us.Hands, now free of boxing wraps, cup my face.His touch is feather-light as he tilts my chin, thumbs sweeping away the dampness on my cheeks.
Overwhelmed by his tenderness, my eyes flutter shut.
His fingers brush the sensitive skin of my neck, sliding to my nape to find the elastic binding my hair.A shiver runs through me, apprehension and anticipation warring.His eyes never leave my face as he carefully loosens the elastic, freeing my hair so it falls in a soft cascade of golden waves.He gathers the lengths, brushing them forward over my shoulders like a silken curtain.
“Amy…” His voice is a husky whisper.“There you are.”
No simpler words have ever made me feel more seen.
More understood.
A spark of hope flares.
He sees me.
The real me.
My heart aches for everything he embodies.
Smoothing my hands down my hair, I step closer.My body brushes his.He remains still, arms hanging loose at his sides, as my palms settle on his chest.His eyes close as he lowers his forehead to mine.A surge of longing steals my breath, driving me to press my lips to his in a tentative kiss.
A single tear traces a hot path down my cheek.
He pulls back slightly, searching my face.Ashamed, I instantly look down.He cups my face again, wipes my tear with his thumb, and presses a kiss to my forehead.His lips then trail down the bridge of my nose.My breath hitches.Half gasp, half sigh.But when his mouth finds mine again, something in me twists.
It’s not tenderness I crave.
It’s erasure.
Images of James and the redhead erupt in my mind.
His hands pulling her flush.
Her head thrown back.
