“But this isn’t small, Aura. This is huge and delicate and sharp in places neither of us knows how to touch yet. This is trust and love and truth. This is me handing you a part of myself I thought I had to lock away to survive you. And I’m scared of what it costs to give that back.”
My chest felt too tight. “Then don’t.”
His gaze burned into mine. “I can’t keep my distance from you and let this sort itself out when every part of me wants to touch you and forget the sorting exists.”
The words slid under my ribs.
He stepped closer again, close enough now that I could see rain clinging to his lashes.
“You crushed me when you told me you loved me,” he said.
I went still.
His eyes held mine, unflinching and raw. “Not because I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted those words from you so badly I hated myself for it. I always knew, Aura. Some part of me always knew you loved me. I knew it in the way you remembered my drink and pretended you didn’t. I knew it in the way you gave me control in the dark like you trusted me with your whole pulse. I knew it in every look you tried to turn into a joke before it got too honest.”
My breath hitched.
“And then you said it out loud,” he continued, voice breaking around the edges, “and it made this whole fucking nightmare feel useless. All the months of hurting each other, all the girls I didn’t want, all the rooms I made unsafe for you, all the ways you cut me before I could get close, all that pain just sitting there between us, and under it was love the whole time. We did all of that damage around something that was already true.”
My tears slipped down my face faster now.
Easton’s hand lifted like he wanted to wipe them away, then stopped in the air between us. His fingers curled into his palm, and he lowered his hand.
“I want to touch you so badly right now,” he said, rough and honest. “And I don’t trust that impulse yet.”
That made me cry harder than if he had touched me.
“You don’t trust yourself with me?” I asked.
“I trust myself not to hurt you with my hands.” His jaw flexed. “I don’t trust myself not to use touching you as a way around the hard part.”
The kitchen went quiet.
The rain filled it.
My heart did the rest.
“So what is the hard part?” I whispered.
His throat moved. “Acceptance.”
I held my breath.
“I accept that what happened to you was awful.” His voice steadied around the words, like he had decided they deserved better than trembling. “I accept that your rules came from survival. I accept that you weren’t sitting around thinking of ways to humiliate me when I wanted mornings and dates and lights. You were terrified. You were trying to keep yourself safe in the only way that made sense to you.”
A sob caught in my throat.
His eyes went glassy, but he didn’t look away.
“I accept that Darian and every coward in that room got to walk away while you became the only visible evidence of what they did. I accept that Maddox saying your name like gossip wasn’t just some asshole running his mouth. It was him putting you back under those lights in front of everybody. I accept that I didn’t know, and I accept that not knowing doesn’t erase what I did with the pieces I had.”
My hand pressed harder to my middle.
“Easton.”
“I accept that you hurt me,” he said, and that one came rougher. “I accept that loving you doesn’t make that hurt disappear. I accept that I can forgive you and still need you to understand the damage. I accept that if we go forward, we don’t get to pretend the last year didn’t happen. We have to carry it differently. Together, if you want that.”
I stared at him through tears, my whole body shaking now. “You forgive me?”
