Page 150 of Broken Blades

She was angry.

And somehow—despite the shattered plan, despite the guilt eating at my chest, despite knowing I didn't deserve her⁠—

She was still adorable.

Still mine.

"Yeah," I admitted. "I'm angry." I reached up and cupped her face, thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "I'm angry that your father destroyed my life and walked away clean. I'm angry that I let revenge turn into this. I'm angry that I didn't tell you the truth sooner."

Her eyes widened, searching mine.

"But mostly?" My voice dropped lower, rougher. "I'm angry that I fell for you anyway."

She inhaled sharply. "Wyatt⁠—"

"I didn't want to," I continued, the confession spilling out before I could stop it. "I didn't plan for this. For you. For any of it." I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing her in. "But you walked into my life and you didn't run when you should have. You defended me to Barbara. You took care of me when I was bleeding. You slept in my bed and you trusted me even when I didn't deserve it." My hands slid into her hair, cradling her face like she was something precious instead of leverage. "So yeah, sweetheart. You ruined everything."

Her hands came up to grip my wrists, holding on like she was afraid I'd pull away.

"I love you." The truth slipped out before I could stop it.

She froze. "What?"

I laughed softly at myself. Because apparently tonight I was just saying everything. All the words I'd kept locked down for weeks now spilling out in this hotel room like I'd lost all control.

Maybe I had.

I stepped closer and cupped her face, forcing her to look at me. To see that I meant it. "I love you, sweetheart."

Her eyes widened, pupils blown, lips parted on a breath she wasn't taking.

My voice dropped lower. Raw. Honest in a way I'd never been with anyone. "Everything that happened to me… every damn thing…" I brushed my thumb across her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness that had become more familiar than my own reflection. "I'd suffer through it all again if it means getting you at the end of it."

The words hung between us, heavy and irrevocable. No taking them back. No pretending I hadn't just laid myself bare in front of the one person who could destroy me more completely than her father ever had.

Silence filled the room.

Then she stepped into me.

And kissed me.

Not hesitant. Not uncertain. But with everything she had—all the fear and anger and confusion transforming into something fiercer. Something that tasted like forgiveness and fury and need all wrapped together.

Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer as her mouth opened under mine. I groaned into the kiss, arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her against me until her feet left the floor.

She wrapped her legs around my hips instinctively, and I turned, pressing her back against the wall. The kiss deepened, desperate and consuming, like we were both trying to prove something. That this was real. That despite everything—the lies, the revenge, the impossibility of us—we'd found something worth keeping.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, she kept her forehead pressed to mine.

"I love you too," she whispered against my mouth.

Those four words hit harder than anything I'd ever felt on the ice. Harder than the loss tonight. Harder than Barbara's threats or her father's betrayal or the weight of my own broken plan.

Because she knew now. Knew what I'd done. Knew why I'd done it. Knew exactly how this had started.

And she loved me anyway.

"You're insane," I muttered, but my hands were already sliding under her dress, desperate to feel more of her.