“Tell that to Daniel.”
“I would, if I could. I’d tell him his death wasn’t your fault. That you did everything you could. That you carry him with you every day because you cared, not because you failed.”
My eyes burn. I blink hard, refusing to cry.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. “I’ve watched you work for months. The way you prepare for every contingency, triple-check every detail, fight like hell forpeople who can’t fight for themselves. You’re not careless, Josie. You’re not reckless. Whatever happened in Atlanta, it wasn’t because you didn’t try hard enough.”
“Then why does it still feel like my fault?”
“Because you’re human. Because you care. Because the alternative—not feeling anything, not taking responsibility—would mean becoming someone you aren’t.”
I turn my head to look at him. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite name. Tender. Understanding. Like he knows exactly what it feels like to carry guilt you can’t put down.
“What about you?” I ask. “What keeps you up at night?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “The club. Summit. Lee. Emma.” He hesitates. “Rebecca, my ex-wife.”
“What happened?”
“I drove her away. I put the club first. She stayed longer than she should have—for Emma, mostly, we all know Lee would have been fine—but she saw her out when Emma got accepted to that fancy New York dance school.” His jaw tightens. “When she finally left, she told me I didn’t know how to love anything more than this club. That maybe I never had.”
The words hit me harder than I expect. I try to imagine Stone young, in love, watching his wife walk away. Tried to imagine Emma and Lee, caught in the middle.
“Do you believe that?”
I hold my breath, bracing for the answer. Part of me needs him to say no. Part of me is terrified he’ll say yes—that he’ll confirmwhat I’ve been afraid of all along. That he’s not capable of putting anyone first, that I’d always come second.
Haven’t I always?
“I used to.” His eyes meet mine. “Now I’m not so sure.”
My heart stumbles.
The air between us shifts. Charged. I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are, how warm his hand feels wrapped around mine, how his thumb has stilled against my skin.
“Stone—”
“I was an idiot,” he says quietly. “At the party. When I pulled back. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you—I’ve wanted you for months. But I was worried I’d fuck this up.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I have with nearly everything else. My marriage. My relationship with Emma, for years. Every woman who’s tried to get close to me since Rebecca left.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve got a pattern, Josie. Push people away before they can leave.”
I know that pattern. I’ve lived it.
“And now?”
“Now you almost died, and I realized safe doesn’t mean shit if it means spending the rest of my life wondering what could have been.”
My breath catches. My pulse is pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it through our joined hands.
I search his face for the lie, for the equivocation, for the inevitable moment when he’ll pull back again.
I don’t find it.
Fuck. I have to decide if I’m brave enough to want him too.
