Page 37 of Sweet Heart

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. What did you mean?”

“You can’t hide me like a dirty little secret. If that is what I am to you—”

“You’re not. Dios, Maria, you are not.”

I bite my lip as she extends her hand toward me in offering. I tremble a little but step forward to let my fingers slide into her palm. Catherine instantly pulls me closer to her.

“Look at me.”

I do. Of course I do.

“I discarded you because I was afraid. I was overwhelmed, and felt cornered, but that is no excuse for what I did. Your feelings were hurt, and for that, I apologize. But from here on out, I will no longer treat you as disposable or as a secret.”

“Good.” I mean for it to sound self-assured, but instead it comes out hoarsely. “Because I am neither.”

She shakes her head, brushing her thumb against the inside of my wrist.

“You are neither.”

The air around me suddenly feels too thin, and the room feels too small. It is as if a dozen tiny fingers run up my spine, and I have to fight the urge to shudder. But Cat?

Soft lines appear around her eyes as she smiles carefully and lifts her hand toward my jaw in a silent question. I nod, unable to speak due to the sudden lump in my throat, and she gently wraps her slender fingers around the back of my neck.

“And I no longer want to treat this like it is nothing either.” She pauses and looks at me. “But if we are going to do this…” She squeezes gently, and I can’t help but smile. “I want us to be all in. Both of us. No doubts. No questions. No…” Her eyes trail down to my neck and darken slightly. “No destructive behavior.”

I swallow hard but nod.

“I want that too.”

“I know.”

Of course she does.

I let my gaze glide over her face, and I take in the curve of her lips, the slope of her nose, the way her eyes flick back and forth between my face and my neck. She doesn’t have to say it, it’s evident on her face.

“You really hate them, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“They didn’t hurt. Not really.”

“The contusions mean there is—”

I shake my head.

“Why do you hate them?”

“Because somebody else touched you.”

We both freeze at those words. Her eyes widen, but I feel myself go still. Her voice didn’t have that edge of jealousy or possession. It was thin, fragile… scared. A muscle in her jaw twitches, but she refuses to look away. And just like that, the bruises matter. They don’t hurt me, but they cut her.

“I am here,” I whisper softly, hooking my fingers into the fabric of her coat. “They mean nothing.”

“They are a testament to how I hurt you.”

“They are a testament to a sequence of choices on both sides. Choices that brought us here, into this moment.”