“My PTSD from the whole ordeal manifests as possessive behavior. When I have something good, I hold onto it for dear life, because I get scared that it could be taken from me at any moment. I get jealous. Clingy. Not a good version of myself.”
I take a deep breath.
“I started having feelings for you at Halloween. Watching you dance with Axel and Nik? I wanted to rip them apart. Make you mine. Lock you away so no one else could touch you. And the next day, I hated myself for it. I knew I’d ruin everything… my friendships, you… if I acted on those feelings. Maybe you wouldn’t have hated me at first, but you would have grown to resent me. My fear of losing you would’ve suffocated you. So, I shut you out instead.”
I watch the emotions play across her beautiful face, as she processes every word.
“But, you haven’t been like that with Tasha,” she points out.
My cheeks heat, and I can’t look at her when I say, “We broke up a week ago. And I wasn’t like that with her because I didn’t see her as long-term.”
Her breath catches.
“And you could see us being long-term?” she asks softly.
“Couldn’t you?” I counter.
Of course I could. Her being mine. Me loving her the way she deserves. Fiercely. Without apology.
“Yes,” she finally says. “You’re my person. Whether we’re together or just friends.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and she gives me a watery smile.
“Maybe we’re not meant to be right now. Or maybe not ever. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”
“And you’re my person too. No matter what,” I say, pulling her into my arms.
I cling to her, wishing the timing was different. Wishing we were.
Sometimes, you meet the right person at the wrong time, and that just has to be ok. Even when it feels like it won’t be.
Sometimes, all you get is that hug. That moment. That goodbye.
Darkness swallows me whole, and all I can think is that I didn’t get my goodbye.
Chapter 41
Sean
The dressing room smells like powder, perfume, and faint nerves. Aro sits across from me on a velvet settee, hands clasped too tightly in her lap, jaw locked like she’s bracing for war.
“I hate this dress,” she mutters.
I glance up. “You look stunning.”
She snorts, but a flicker of warmth glows in her eyes. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t exactly come with Kevlar.”
I smirk. “You planning on getting shot today?”
“God, I hope not.”
We lapse into silence. Outside, muffled strings swell as the ceremony music cues up. I check the clock. Five minutes until showtime. Still no sign of Joe.
She leans forward, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. It guts me a little, seeing how small she looks when she lets the armor slip.
I lean in, careful. “Hey.”
She lifts her head.
