“Hey, hey,” he murmured, hands cupping her face as gently as he could. His thumbs brushed across her skin, catching the tears as they kept coming. “Look at me, Hillary.”
Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and full of pain.
“What are you sorry for?” His voice cracked on the question, because he needed to know, needed her to say it.
Was she sorry for pushing him away? For not trusting him? For pretending what they had was nothing when he’d felt everything? Or was it something else, something deeper he couldn’t reach?
He didn’t know. All he knew was she was breaking in his arms, and it was breaking him too.
She was shaking against him, her words tumbling out between hiccupped sobs.
“I ruined it. I ruined us before we even had a chance. You were—God, you were everything good, everything light, and I pushed you away because I thought I was protecting you. I told myself I was too old, too settled, too broken for you, but the truth is I was just scared. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself really love you.”
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her face into his chest like she wanted to disappear.
Murphy swallowed hard, his hand gentle as he brushed the wet streaks from her cheeks. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet.
Her words tumbled out fast, ragged, like she was trying to outrun them.
“ . . . I love you, Murphy, and I hate myself for it because I’ve been so cruel?—”
His world stuttered to a stop.
Love.
He barely heard the rest. Every part of him went still, locked on those three words. His heart hammered like it was trying to break out of his chest. She loved him.
He caught her face in his hands, halting her spiral. “Wait,” he said, rough and urgent. “Say it again.”
Her eyes met his, still shimmering with tears. “Murphy, I’m so sorry.”
“No, Hill. Not that part. Don’t bury it with all that other stuff. Did you mean it?” His thumbs brushed her damp cheeks. “Do you love me?”
She blinked at him, torn wide open, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to answer. But her lips trembled, and the tiniest nod slipped free.
His lungs flooded with air he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for. A laugh—half disbelief, half wonder—broke out of him. “You love me.” He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing. “Christ, Hill, that’s all I needed to know.”
Her nod was all the permission he needed. His mouth crashed into hers, and every ounce of frustration, longing, and love he’d bottled up ignited at once.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was a wildfire.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, like she’d finally stopped fighting herself. He groaned into her mouth, hands sliding over her waist, her back, desperate to anchor her to him, to make sure she couldn’t slip away again.
She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, tilting his head, claiming her with everything he had. All the lonely nights, all the missed mornings, all the times he’d stood outside her office withcoffee and swallowed down what he really wanted—they were gone, obliterated in the rush of her lips against his.
His hands roamed, hurried and rough, gripping, pulling, memorizing. She arched against him like she’d been starving too, like she needed him just as much as he needed her.
There was nothing careful left between them. Just need. Just want. Just the raw, desperate truth of them finally breaking free.
Her taste, her hands, her broken whispers, they undid him. He couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
Clothes were in the way, and suddenly his fingers were tugging, pulling, tearing. Her jacket hit the floor, her blouse yanked open. Her hands were just as frantic, shoving his sweater up, nails scraping across his stomach as if she needed to feel every inch of him.
“Murphy,” she gasped against his mouth, her breath hot, needy.
The sound of his name on her lips like that . . . he nearly came apart.
He lifted her, strong hands gripping her thighs as her legs wrapped tight around his waist. The wall was at her back, his body pressing her there, holding her up, keeping her caged and cherished all at once.
