I shouldn’t have done it. I knew that even as I did it. Knew it as my chest burned and my heart slammed against my ribs, as if it was trying to escape me. The taste of her nearly knocked me to my knees.
Then it hit me.
EverythingI’ddone.
EverythingI’dsaid.
Every word that made her walkaway.
I tore myself back.
Physically. Like ripping my hands off a live wire.
“Fuck—” I stumbled back a step, my whole body shaking so violently I couldn’t hide it. My forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath coming out in broken gasps, fingers digging into the fabric of her sleeve as if I needed to anchor myself to something solid.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m—fuck—I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t push me away. Her hands hovered, unsure, as if she was scared I’d disappear if she touched me wrong.
“I didn’t mean to,” I said, voice wrecked. “I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to cross that line. I swear to you, Aurora, I didn’t—”
I swallowed hard—fuck. I ruined it, I fucking ruined it.
She leaned back just enough to catch my face between her hands.
I couldn’t look at her. I physically couldn’t. My eyes stayed fixed somewhere over her shoulder, anywhere but her, shame sitting so heavy in my chest it felt like it might cave me in.
Her thumbs brushed my cheeks, anyway. Gentle. Careful. Like she was afraid I’d flinch.
Then she leaned in, nudged her nose against mine.
Soft. Familiar. Ruinous.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Her voice wasn’t loud. It was broken around the edges, as if she was still learning how to use it again, as if every word cost her something. “Don’t be sorry, Josh. Ever.”
My breath stuttered.
“I didn’t mind,” she continued, barely audible. “So why are you sorry?”
That did it.
I finally looked at her.
And fuck—her eyes.
They weren’t scared. They weren’t angry. They weren’t guarded. They were soft and open and so devastatingly genuine that it knocked the air straight out of my lungs. She was standing right in front of me, like I hadn’t shattered her, like she wasn’t the one who walked away bleeding while I stayed behind pretending it was the right thing.
My body reacted before my brain could catch up.
I wanted her.
God, I wanted her so badly it hurt. Five weeks without her. Five weeks of empty mornings and sleepless nights, and convincing myself she was gone for good. I never thought she’d come back. Never let myself hope she would.
And now she was here, looking at me likethis.
I leaned in, my forehead nearly touching hers again, voice dropping to a whisper so fragile it scared me. “Aurora… please.”
