“I didn’t want to,” I whisper.
He blinks, but nods. “Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to.” He leans in and brushes a sweet, tender kiss to my forehead. “We will never do anything you don’t want. I’m sorry I made you—”
I shake my head again, fingers splaying across his chest. “That’s not what I mean. You didn’t do anything.”
“I did. It’s my fault.”
Nicolas, bag crunching between his hands as he mashes it into a ball, steps out of the pantry.
Dom’s face drops to mine, eyes bright with concern. “Are you hurt?”
“We didn’t…” I trail off, letting him fill in the rest.
“I was rude to her,” Nicolas interjects, pitching the bag in the direction of the sink and getting it in. “I said some things that came out wrong.”
“What did you say?” Dom demands, body rigid next to me.
With only the barest hint of hesitation, Nicolas tells him exactly what happened. No concealing. No sugar coating. His honesty fills the cramped space and cuts a fresh wound across my heart to hear over again how little he thinks of me.
“It’s not the way I meant it,” he says softly... to me. “I don’t think you’re a toy, Isla, but I do think you’re dangerous.” He never wavers. Never looks away. He unspools his confession across the counter between us. “Loving you is like living on a razor blade. Only, it’s not a limb I’m worried about losing.”
How can I be angry when he’s right? Isn’t that my curse? I will slip into their life, destroy it until they realize what a mistake I am. What a danger. A risk. He’s smart to keep me away.
“You’re right,” I whisper. “I’m not a good choice.”
“Isla, no…”
I ignore Dom.
I stare into the eyes of the only one of us with any sense. His face is a blur behind the thick wall of tears I’m struggling to contain.
“You’re right. I will run. I won’t want to, but I don’t know how to stay without hurting you. Without ruining everything. You should stay away.”
I hate the crack. That tiny waver that exposes just how weak I actually am. Grabbing the bag and turning to the fridge does nothing to fool anyone. The tears I managed to contain spill down my cheeks. Hot and laced with self-hatred, but I can’t wipe them without humiliating myself further.
My fingers close around the cold steel handle.
Hands that are not mine close onto my arms and I’m spun. The bag slips from my grasp and the contents spill across the hardwood. They scatter around my feet. I kick something that rolls when I’m shoved into the icy slab of the fridge door.
“Dominic!” Nicolas growls, body braced as if prepared to leap over the counter to stop the other man.
But Dom isn’t listening. He has his fingers in my hair, using the strands to wrench my face up to his. To the hard pools of his eyes. The sharp slash of his mouth.
“When have you ever ruined anything?” he snarls into my wide, wet eyes.
A fresh tear treks down my cheek.
“All the time,” I whisper.
His eyes narrow. “Name once. One fucking time, Isla.”
Another tear.
My brain tries to think, to conjure a single moment when the world would have been better off without me, but there are so many.
“I don’t know,” I croak.
“Because there are none.” His lips curl back over his clenched teeth, but his hold softens. “You have done nothing wrong, sweetheart. All that shit you’ve been told, it’s a fucking lie.” I feel the tension coursing through him even as his touch is feather light brushing my cheeks. “You’re not perfect, I know that, but you’re perfect for us. Just... stay. Let us prove this is where you belong.”
