“Open the door!” he demands, pounding on the glass again.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at him, refusing to let the gray steel of his eyes hook into me again. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”
“Dove, look at me!” He isn’t leaving. He grips the door handle, yanking on it, but the lock holds. He leans his forehead againstthe wet glass, his chest heaving as he breathes, his eyes seeking mine through the barrier.
“Don’t leave,” he mouths. The rain washes the blood from his nose down his chin, making him look like a war hero returning from a lost battle.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t know if I’m running away from him, or running away from the part of me that wants to open the door. The rain is relentless now, hammering against the roof of the car, drowning out the world. But it can’t drown out Shane. He is still there. He is pounding on the glass, shouting my name, his face twisted in a way I’ve never seen.
“Dove!” he yells, his voice cracking. “Please! Just... let me talk!”
I sit frozen, my hands gripping the wheel so hard my fingers ache. I should drive. I should hit the gas and leave him in the mud. But I can’t. My foot feels heavy, leaden on the brake. My heart is beating in time with his fists on the glass. Then, he moves to the front, standing at the hood so I can not leave.
“Move, you asshole!” I scream, my voice shaking.
“No!” He slams his hands onto the hood of the car, leaning over it, staring straight through the glass at me. Water streams down his face, soaking his collar, ruining his suit. He doesn’t care. “I am not moving until you open that door!”
With a cry of frustration, I unlock the door and shove it open. The storm rushes in instantly—cold, wet, and loud. I step out into the rain, not caring that my dress is soaked in seconds, not caring that my hair is plastered to my skull.
“What?” I scream over the wind, standing in the mud in my heels. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”
“Dove—”
“I loved you!” The confession rips out of me, a jagged, bloody thing I’ve been hiding for years. “Do you understand that? I haveloved you for as long as I can remember! And you looked at me tonight and called me a child! You broke my heart, Shane!”
Shane recoils as if I’ve struck him. He stands there in the rain, breathless, staring at me with wide, shattered eyes. He reaches out, as if to touch me, but drops his hand, afraid.
“Why can’t you just see how much this hurts?” I demand, my voice breaking into a sob. “Why do you have to be so cruel?”
Shane doesn’t answer. Instead, he drops to his knees. He sinks right into the gravel and mud, staining his trousers, destroying the image of the perfect Archer heir.
He looks up at me, rain dripping from his lashes, his expression stripped bare.
“I lied.” His voice is raw, rougher than the storm. “I called you a child because I was terrified of how much power you have over me. You aren’t a child, Dove.”
I freeze, my arms wrapped around myself, shivering violently. “What?”
“I lied,” he repeats. “I lied because I’m a coward. I started dating Emily because I was terrified of what I felt for you. I thought I was too old, too dark, too damaged. I thought I would ruin you.”
He takes a breath, shaking his head. “I never slept with her, Dove. It was a sham relationship, at least on my end. To keep you at arm’s length. I thought if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn’t stare at you. I wouldn’t want you. But it didn’t work. It never worked.”
My heart hammers against my ribs, loud and erratic. “You...”
“But hearing you say you were leaving?” He looks at me, his eyes burning with an intensity that stops my breath. “That ruined me. The moment you walked out that door, I ended it. I kicked her out.”
I stare down at him, stunned. The rain mingles with the tears on my face.
“You ended it?”
“I don’t deserve another chance,” Shane says, his voice thick with emotion. “I know that. But I’m begging for one anyway. Please, Dove. Don’t leave.” He reaches a hand out, palm up, rain pooling in it. A silent plea. His hand is shaking.
I look at his hand. I look at his face—the man I’ve loved in secret, the man who just knelt in the mud for me. The anger drains out of me, leaving only the ache of longing that has been there for years. He isn’t perfect. He isn’t a god. He’s just a man who made a mistake because he was scared. I take a step forward. Then another. I reach down, my fingers trembling as I touch his wet cheek. His skin is cold from the rain, but beneath it, he is burning.
“You idiot,” I whisper. “You aren’t dark,” I whisper, my hand cupping his jaw. “You’re just lonely. And I’m not afraid of the dark, Shane.”
Shane lets out a sound that is half-laugh, half-sob. He surges up from his knees, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His mouth crashes onto mine. It isn’t gentle. It’s desperate. It’s a collision of years of silence and secrets, wet and messy and frantic. He tastes like rain and desperation and copper. My hands tangle in his soaked hair, pulling him closer, needing to verify that this is real, that he is real.
He breaks the kiss, gasping for air, his forehead resting against mine. “I love you,” he breathes against my lips. “I love you, Dove. I’m so sorry.”
