“You thought wrong.” Chaos steps closer, his eyes hard. “You let your fear turn you into someone you're not. You didn't trust her. You didn't even give her a chance to explain.”
I drop my head into my hands, my chest heaving. He's right, and I fucked up. I fucked up badly.
“Hope was trying to fix the flower situation without bothering you,” Chaos says. “She spent the whole day making silk flowers with Amy and her mom so you wouldn't have to worry about it. And you just... You destroyed her, man.”
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
Hope. My Hope. What have I done?
“So, how are you going to fix it?” Chaos asks, his voice softer now.
I look up at him, my vision blurry. “I don't know if I can.”
“Bullshit.” He grabs my shoulder and squeezes hard. “You're going to march back in there, and you're going to make this right. You hear me?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
“Come on.” He jerks his head toward the door. “Let's go.”
The clubhouse goes silent when I walk back in. Every single person stares at me in disbelief. The music's still playing, but no one moves.
My eyes scan the room until I see Hope standing at the bar where I left her with Amy and Paige. Her eyes are red, and her mascara is smudged. Even though she’s hurt, her chin is up, and her shoulders are pulled back.
I did that to her.
I walk straight toward her, my heart pounding so hard I think it might break through my ribs. When I reach her, I drop to my knees.
“Hope.” My voice cracks on her name. “I'm so fucking sorry.”
She stares down at me, her eyes wide, her lips parted.
“I fucked up,” I say, and my throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. “I heard you on the phone this morning, and I thought… I thought you were only marrying me because you had to. I let that fear turn me into someone I don't want to be.”
Her breath hitches.
“I should have talked to you,” I continue, and my body trembles. “I should have trusted you, but I didn't. I let my insecurity destroy the best thing in my life, and I'm so fucking sorry.”
A tear slides down her cheek, and it guts me.
“You deserve better than that,” I say, my voice breaking. “You deserve a man who will listen to you. A man who will fight with you, not against you. One who will trust you even when he's scared.”
“Fro—”
“I love you,” I interrupt. The words are raw, desperate. “I love you so much it terrifies me. And I'm asking… No, I’m begging you to forgive me even though I don’t deserve it. I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you.”
For a moment, she just stares at me. Then she drops to her knees in front of me, reaching for my face.
“I'm sorry too,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “I should have told you about the florist right away. I was trying to fix it without bothering you because you'd been sick, but that was a mistake. A huge mistake.”
“Hope you were sick, too.”
“I should have let you in,” she says, tears streaming down her face now. “I should have told you what was happening instead of trying to handle it alone. I promise I'll do better.”
I pull her into my arms, holding her so tight I'm afraid I might break her.
“We'll both do better,” I murmur against her hair. “Together.”
She nods against my chest as her fingers clutch my shirt. For a moment, there’s no one in the world but us. Hope’s in my arms, and her heart beats against mine.
