“There is nothing to forgive.” She eases away from me. “I have never hated you for anything you did that day. I deserved it and more.”
“No. You were a victim too.”
“I was, but I still made a lot of bad choices. I’ve read a ton of self-help books during the years we were separated, and I went to therapy during a six-month period where I was settled in a small town in Switzerland. Sylvie helped me to realize how much trauma and stress impacted my decisions back then. She told me to forgive myself, and I’m trying, but it’s not easy knowing different choices might have meant different outcomes.”
“You were put in an impossible position. Thrown headfirst into a world you knew nothing about.”
“I wish I’d told you. I wanted to, Cristian. I really did, but every time I came close to telling you, that bastard would send me another picture of my mother and send me reeling. My head was such a mess.” She gulps back a mouthful of wine and kicks off her slides, lifting her knees to her chest. “If I’d been able to think more clearly, I would’ve realized there was never any way to save my mother. She knew it. In the last live video, she told me to save myself. That was the time to tell you, but guilt was eating me up and screwing with my head. It was only much later I realized Pablo had already killed her before I missed his deadline. He’d been toying with me all along, and I feel so fucking stupid for not seeing it.”
We stay up for hours talking. Sloane fills in the rest of the gaps, and I listen as she tells me everything, stuffing my fist in my mouth when she explains the abuse she endured while in Mexico and here in New York. It’s hard not to hate myself for not realizing what was going on right under my nose. Sloane asks a bunch of questions about Elio, and I scroll through photos on my phone, talking her through all the milestones she missed.
By the time the clock chimes one, we’re both all talked out and exhausted. We haven’t discussed what happens next, but it’ll have to wait until the morning. All I know is I can’t lose her again. I want her back in my life, fully, in every way possible, and I have zero doubts. I truly hope she feels the same way. “I left some pain pills and a bottle of water by your bed,” I say before we part ways in the hallway. “If you need anything during the night, come wake me.”
“Okay. Thanks, Cristian. Sleep well,” she says before disappearing into her bedroom.
I stare at her bedroom door for way too long before I force my legs to move, walking into my room. I grab a shower before climbing into bed, and though I’m tired, I’m too wired to sleep. Knowing Sloane is across the hall is the worst kind of torture. Today feels like a dream, and I’m afraid to sleep in case I wake to find it was all a figment of my imagination.
After an hour of indecision, I say screw it and fling the covers off. I stalk out of my bedroom in my pajama pants and bare feet, like a man on a mission.
Five years.
Five fucking long years I have waited to know if Sloane was even alive.
On so many nights, I ran through scenarios in my head of what I would say and do when I found her, and not a single one involved us sleeping in separate bedrooms when we reunited.
This isn’t about sex—though every part of me craves intimacy with her—but connection. For years, I lay lonely in bed, remembering how incredible it felt to hold her in my arms. I’m fucked if I’m sleeping alone tonight.
“Sloane,” I whisper, tiptoeing into the room. “Are you awake?”
Covers rustle as she props herself up on her elbows. “Yes. You can’t sleep either?”
“Not without you.” I pad to the bed. “I swear I don’t have any expectations, but I spent years sleeping alone, missing you so much it felt like I was dying every night. Let me sleep here with you. Only to hold you. To reassure myself you’re real and you’re not going to disappear overnight.”
Wordlessly, she peels back the covers and pats the empty space.
I waste no time getting in and wrapping my arms around her. A deep sense of serenity settles over me when she curls into my side and presses her cheek to my bare chest.
We don’t speak, but words are not needed.
This. I just need this.
The ministrations of her fingers tracing light circles on my chest lull me into sleep, and I’m dozing off when she lifts her head. “Cristian,” she whispers, and my eyes instantly flicker open.
“What is it, baby?”
Her hand flattens over my heart. “I need to tell you something else.”
“I’m listening,” I promise, tightening my arm around her waist.
“Everything we shared back then was real. None of it was a lie. My feelings for you were always pure and true.”
“I know, beautiful. I know.” Pressing a lingering kiss to her brow, I wish it were her lips, but I can’t push any agenda. We still have a lot to work through, and I won’t do anything that might scare her away. My biggest fear right now is that I can’t hold on to her. It will devastate me all over again if she decides not to stay.
“I had a lot of regrets,” she says, holding my face trapped in her gaze. “But my biggest regret was never telling you I loved you.”
My heart soars hearing it. I hoped her feelings were as strong as mine, but hearing confirmation of it iseverything.
“Like you, I never stopped.” She peers deep into my eyes as she says, “I love you, Cristian. I love you so much, and that will never change.”
