She lets out a sound that could be a laugh or a sob. “A start? Matt, they don’t need astart. They need proof. They need—”She breaks off, fingers digging into her palms until the knuckles blanch, and I worry she’ll break one of her pink studded acrylics. My chest tightens. I should be able to fix this, but I feel useless watching her tear herself apart. “They need megone.”
Seeing her like this rips something open in me. Every instinct screams to fix it, to strip this pain from her, to free her from the weight she should never have been forced to bear.
“I know how this looks, and I know it’s not going to be easy. But I didn’t—”
“You didn’t what?” She challenges. “You didn’t tell them the truth? You didn’t stand up for me?”
Heat flares at the injustice of it. “I did what I had to do to keep you safe.”
She laughs, short and incredulous, throwing her hands up as she paces the length of the room. “Keep me safe? By leaving me without a single guard and resorting to stalking?”
Every word lands like a blade, and I can’t take a single step toward her without feeling the weight of all I’ve failed to do. She’s right to be furious, and a part of me wants to shove the truth between us and make her hear it all at once, but how can I even begin to explain something I don’t fully understand myself? Right now, I’m still running on theories and suspicions, and hell knows that won’t be enough to hold up.
“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I repeat slowly. “I’m asking for a chance to explain. To show you what’s been going on and what the real risks are.”
Her laugh dies. The defiance thins, replaced by a raw, brittle exhaustion. For a heartbeat, she’s not a shielded, furious woman, she’s someone who’s been hollowed out, and I’m the culprit.
“You have a lot to explain,” she finally whispers.
“I know,” I say. “And I’ll tell you everything you want to know if you’ll let me.”
She studies me like she’s weighing a wager. “So much has happened, so much hurt.” Her voice shatters. “Do you think I can just let you in after that?”
My mouth goes dry. There are things I can’t say—not yet—not until I can put the pieces in order without hurting her more. But the look on her face makes me reckless.
“I’ll prove it,” I say, raw. “If I have to bulldoze every person in my path, I will.”
Her laugh is low, almost a sob. “You say that now. But words are easy.”
“I know.” The admission tastes like both defeat and hope. “But I’m ready to do the hard part if you’ll let me.”
She looks away, swallowed by the hush of the room. “This is bullshit, Matt.”
“This distance between us is bullshit. Not being able to hold you, that’s bullshit,” I say, closing the gap until I can see the fine lines around her eyes, the subtle tremor of her mouth. “But I’m not giving up.”
For a moment, she’s silent, and I let the quiet press between us. It’s fragile—like one wrong move will shatter it—but it’s something.
“You don’t get to tell me what to feel,” she says finally, voice low but steady. “But if you’re serious about this—aboutus—then you start by telling me everything. No half-truths. No omissions.”
“Everything,” I vow knowing this is make or break.
She exhales—a small, almost imperceptible surrender—then gestures to one of the chairs at the tiny two-top by the window,her movements measured, deliberate. She perches on the foot of the bed, spine straight, eyes locked on me. “Start talking. Don’t stop until I tell you to.”
It’s a surrender without surrender, an invitation tempered with steel. She’s letting me in but on her terms. And God help me, I’ll take it however she’ll give it.
Following her lead, I take a seat, and for the first time since I walked in, I feel a sliver of something that might be hope. For a long moment, I can’t speak. The silence between us hangs like judgment—hers, mine, the world’s. How do I even begin to unpack all the half-truths and tangled secrets that divide us?
“You think I let them exile you because I didn’t care,” I start, voice rough, and ragged. “That I just stood there and watched it happen.”
Her eyes flash, wet and furious. She doesn’t deny it.
“I didn’t,” I say, sharper now.God, she has to believe this.“When I found out about Jen—what she was doing, who she was connected to—I thought my world had cracked open. I wanted it to be a lie. I needed it to be. Because how could the woman who raised you…?”
The words choke off. I see the muscle in her jaw twitch, the way she holds herself together by threads.
“I went to Belfast with Bren. Not to dig up dirt on you—God, no—but to find anything that could prove you weren’t involved. That you were innocent. I wanted proof, Lily. I wanted to drag it out, lay it bare so the world couldn’t touch you. I swear to you, sweetheart, that was all I wanted. The whole damn reason I got on that plane.”
Her hands tighten, fisting the sheets between whitening knuckles. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak, instead waiting for me to continue.
