He rubbed his hands together, looking down again. “I wanted you to look at me, that’s all. Not Miles. Not anyone else. Just me.”
And in that moment, it wasn’t Joshua Lockhart, captain, heir, arrogant, cruel.
It was just a boy.
When he finally spoke again, it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t even defensive. It was wrecked.
“When you fell into that pool…” his voice cracked mid-sentence, barely a whisper, “I—I saw her again.”
My breath hitched.
He dragged in a deep breath, knuckles whitening against his knees. “My mum. The night of the accident… she was soaked. It was raining so hard I couldn’t tell if it was water or blood on her. And when you slipped under—” he stopped, swallowing hard, eyes glassy. “You didn’t even fight it. You just…let go. Like she did.”
His throat bobbed, and for a second, he couldn’t talk. The sound he made next was closer to a plea than a confession.
“I can’t—I can’t watch that again, Aurora. I can’t lose another woman who”—he exhaled through his teeth, voice shaking—“who makes everything else feel less fucking heavy. Who makes this”—he gestured to himself, his chest, his head—“a little less unbearable.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. My heart was doing something painful and confusing at the same time.
He kept going, quieter now, words trembling out of him. “You’re the only thing that shuts it off. The noise. The anger. The—whatever the hell’s wrong with me.”
He laughed once, but it sounded hollow. “And I know I don’t deserve you near me. I know I’m the reason you’re hurting, that you flinch when I move, that I’m the fucking villain in your story. But when I pulled you out of that water, I swear to God, Aurora, it felt like the world stopped for a second. I thought”—his voice dropped, breaking completely— “I thought I lost you.”
He looked up finally, eyes red, guilt, and fear written all over him.
“I don’t ever want to see another body go still in front of me,” he whispered. “Not hers. Not yours.”
And in that moment, everything in me went quiet.
I was looking at a son still haunted, still drowning and terrified of losing the only person who made him feel like breathing was worth it again.
I just stared at him.
Not blinking. Not breathing. Not moving.
His words were still echoing in my head like the sound of a dropped glass that just wouldn’t stop shattering.
When you fell into that pool… I saw her again.
I can’t lose another woman who makes this less unbearable.
It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
All this time—
All those words, the humiliation, the way he cornered me, scared me, made me hate walking into that field, and underneath it all was… care?
My fingers tightened on the blanket, my chest rising and falling too fast. I couldn’t look at him anymore, but I couldn’t not look either.
He was sitting there, soaked in regret, looking more human than I’ve ever seen him. And I hated that part of me, the one that felt sorry for him. The one who wanted to understand him.
Because how do you even process that?
That the boy who broke you only did it because he was scared of losing you? That instead of asking to be your friend, he chose to make you flinch. Instead of being gentle, he chose to hurt first because he didn’t want to be the one hurting later.
My throat burned.
He… cared?
