Page 66 of Break My Heart

Analyzing the night the way I do everything, I consider that he wanted to be with me; just me. The effort he put in to make the evening as comfortable as possible was evident.

He also didn’t deflect from the hard topics. Not once. Not when I asked follow-up questions. I murmur aloud, “He named what he did because he lived it. Vitriol. Dismissal. They were his words, not mine.”

But the biggest sticking point of the night is that he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Didn’t expect us to pick up from where we left off. That one surprised me because I fully expected him to want to resume our relationship before he blew it up. But to know that he agrees we can’t return to what we had after what happened?

That matters.

Because most people do after a betrayal. They sincerely apologize with expectations attached. A check-the-box remorse already mapped out in their heads.

Leo didn’t. He asked for a chance.

As sincere as I know he was, it doesn’t erase what he said. It doesn’t erase the way every memory I had in my family home shifted. It doesn’t undo the way I felt standing there, realizing I had miscalculated him completely. “Tonight was good, but I’m allowed to be cautiously optimistic.”

My head falls forward. “After all, emotions are far less predictable than code.” My words breathe in the quiet of the room, like naming the problem might make it easier to solve.

It doesn’t.

Because there is no clean solution here. No series of steps I can follow to guarantee a stable outcome. No patch I can deploy to correct what broke between us.

Just variables. Too many of them.

I push away from the dresser, pacing once across the room before stopping near the windows. The city stretches out below me, all light and structure—everything appearing ordered from a distance. Bahrain at night is deceptive. It looks calm. Predictable. It’s none of those things.

Kind of like this situation.

I exhale slowly, resting my forehead briefly against the glass before saying softly, “He made a huge effort because of me.”

And that’s the crux of it. He’s Leo Hawthorne. He could have walked away from what happened between us and found a new person to be by his side. He didn’t. He’s putting forth the effort to redeem himself in my eyes.

My arms fold loosely across my stomach, fingers pressing lightly into my sides as if I can hold everything in place. “There’s something still between us because he hasn’t stopped trying and I can’t let go.”

That’s the part I keep circling back to. Walking away would be easier. Instead, Leo opened himself up to let me see everything I wasn’t privy to before, including a lifelong pattern of neglect that infuriates me. Still, I caution myself, “Understanding why he said what he did doesn’t change the fact that it happened.”

It doesn’t change the impact of how quickly something I trusted shifted into something I had to defend my heart against. “But…knowing matters.”

Tonight mattered.

The way he sat there and didn’t try to pass blame matters.

The way he gave me insight into the parts of him he clearly doesn’t show just anyone. The way he didn’t simply try to charm his way around discussing difficult things. Truthfully, the honesty of it was jarring. That’s not nothing, and I recognize the emotional toll it must have taken on him, even though I wish it had happened before we imploded.

I move toward the bed, sit and lean forward—elbows braced on my knees, hands loosely clasped together. If my heart was a system, I’d monitor behavior over time. Look for consistency and perform regression testing. Assess whether the change is real or temporary.

My lips press together, forming a tight line, before I murmur, “That’s what he is asking for—a period where I can observe whether he’s changed.”

It seems so simple, yet it’s everything.

The idea settles into place more easily than anything else has tonight because I can understand that. Leo knows he’s not getting immediate access to my heart. He’s letting me set the boundaries.

The only thing he’s asked for is another chance to show me he’s not the man I overheard. I told him I’d consider it.

My fingers loosen, resting against my knees as I lean back slightly. “His request refuses to let me ignore what I feel.”

That’s the other side of it. The part I’d prefer to minimize. Because when I’m around Leo, my own emotions are out of control. My pulse thrums harder against my skin. I mutter, “You’re not helping yourself, Christin.”

But it’s the truth, and pretending I don’t feel that way would be a whole different mistake. I glance toward the door, the memory of him patiently asking me out for dinner clear. Not pushing for anything more. Just waiting and hoping.

That’s when I realize what I need more than anything. “Consistency.”