Everything I’m not ready to admit out loud.
You’re mine.
You never stopped being mine.
I still fucking love you.
The realization hits deep.
Too deep.
Because if that’s true?
If I never stopped?
Then what the hell have I been doing all this time?
I tighten my hold on her, pressing my forehead to hers, trying to ground myself, trying to catch my breath, but it’s not working.
Nothing is.
Because she’s here.
In my arms.
Responding to me like no time has passed.
Like we didn’t break.
Like I didn’t let her walk away.
My chest aches.
Sharp.
Relentless.
Because part of me—some stubborn, hopeful, dangerous part of me—wants to believe her. Wants to believe she’s telling the truth.
That she didn’t betray me.
That I got it wrong.
That I was the one who fucked this up.
All because of Paul.
“Fuck,” I breathe, dragging a hand through my hair, trying to get a grip.
I lift my head slightly, looking down at her, taking in the way she looks right now—more flushed.
Breathless.
Still holding onto me like she doesn’t want to let go.
And something in my chest twists hard.
Because she doesn’t look like someone who’s lying.
