“One hundred percent. But you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
He goes still.
My mouth snaps shut.
Oh.
“That’s annoying when someone else says it.”
“Extremely,” he agrees. He turns my hand over in his, oh so gently. “It’s a little red but doesn’t seem to be swelling or bruising.”
“It stings, but I don’t think I broke anything,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry, Aspen.”
It’s soft. Careful.
I glance down at my hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
“No, but everything else is.”
“That’s a lot of blame to take on yourself.”
“You told me you loved me, and I let my fear be louder than the one thing I knew was true.”
My breath catches.
His thumb brushes over my sore knuckles. “I love you, Aspen.”
There’s so much truth and vulnerability as he gazes down at me, and I know he’s telling the truth, but I want to hear it again.
“Tell me again.”
He smirks. “I love you, Aspen. More than I ever thought possible. Love isn’t something I ever thought I’d get to have, but with you, I can’t control it. It’s there every day, and I’m done holding myself back from it.”
“You don’t know how glad I am to hear that . . .” I bite my lip, unsure for a second if I want to rock the boat, when I decide that’s exactly the kind of shit I’m done doing. “What changed?”
“Nothing,” he says, but he’s quick to duck his head, capturing my attention before I can look away. “And everything.”
“Oh,” I say.
“My grandmother is still sick. I can’t change my past—I can’t change any of those things. But I choose to stop waiting for bad things to happen.”
“Are you okay?”
“No. But I will be.”
And that’s all I need to hear. Everything else we can figure out with time.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call or text. I wanted to make sure I could tell you that before I promised anything more.”
It’s not like Emmett to talk in circles, but I can tell he’s working out how to say what he needs to.
“I’m seeing a therapist. We’ve had two sessions, and it’s exhausting, but I think it’s good.”
“Because of work?”
