I didn’t know.
Her fingers curled in the hospital gown at my chest. For one second, she kissed me back.
One second.
One lifetime.
Then she pulled away like the kiss had burned her.
“No.”
The word came out broken.
She stepped back fast, one hand covering her mouth.
“No,” she said again, this time to herself. “No, no, no.”
Shame hit me so hard I almost welcomed the physical pain.
“Destiny.”
“That cannot happen again.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her eyes were wild now. “Because you keep saying you know things and then doing whatever the hell you want with my heart.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop being sorry and be honest.”
I closed my eyes.
Honest.
The word I kept demanding from myself and dodging every time it aimed at the place that hurt most.
I opened my eyes.
“Maybe we’ll never be out of each other’s blood,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
“But I’m not going to blow up my relationship trying to figure out if this is real or if it’s just a wound we keep reopening.”
The hurt in her eyes changed.
Sharpened.
Dangerous.
I kept going because apparently I had decided if I was going to be a coward, I might as well be thorough.
“What if we do this?” I said, voice rough. “What if I end things with Georgia, and you and I go on a few dates, and after the fire burns out, we realize it was all a big what-if? What if we’re just addicted to the almost? To the trauma? To the fact that nobody ever let us find out?”
Her lips parted.
No words came.
