Page 109 of The Ache That Stayed

I stepped forward before I could stop myself. “Fine.”

My chest rose sharply.

“You left.” The words tasted bitter.

“You don’t get to—”

“No,” I cut in, closing the distance further, jabbing a finger into his chest.

“You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened and act like I’m the one avoiding something.”

I took a deep breath.

“You left me once already.”

My voice shook—but I didn’t stop.

“And I broke in ways I didn’t know how to fix. I had to put myself back together,” I continued, my voice unsteady. “Piece by piece. Alone.”

My throat tightened, tears threatening to spill.

“And I’m not doing that again. So yeah,” I exhaled, gesturing between us. “Distance? Feels safer than whatever this is.”

He moved fast, caging me in, trapping me. My back hit the counter before I could react, the edge biting into my spine. His hands braced on either side of me. He was just there—all heat, fury, and inevitability.

“Safe?” he repeated softly, which somehow sounded far more dangerous than if he’d shouted.

“You think staying away from me is what’s keeping you safe?”

His face dipped closer.

“I stayed away for two years thinking just that,” he said, each word measured, controlled. “And look where that got us.”

His jaw flexed. “You think I don’t know what I did?”

His eyes searched mine.

“Believe me, Volpi, I know. I wake up with it. I live with it. Every. Fucking. Day. And if I could undo it, I would. But I can’t. So don’t stand there and tell me I don’t know what leaving cost you. Because it cost me too.”

My chest constricted. His throat bobbed.

“I did that for you,” he continued. “I thought it would protect you.”

“It didn’t. You’ve brought trouble at my doorstep.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

He huffed. “If you haven’t noticed, trouble always follows you, Volpi. You just never realised it.”

I shook my head and pushed at his chest.

“You hurt me,” I said, voice breaking through anger. “You erased me. Like we were nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”

“I know.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging them at the top.

Something flickered across his face. Close to guilt. Real, ugly guilt.

“Christ, Volpi, I know.”