Page 140 of Toxic Kiss

“Cy…look at me. You can do it.”

His eyelashes, wet with tears, slowly flutter open, and this time they focus on my face.

“No matter what is happening…I promise that we will get to the bottom of it. I’m not going to leave you to deal with this on your own.”

I’ve never seen him so vulnerable, stripped down, and open as he pulls me in and holds me tight. His pain sounds like his soul is being torn from his chest.

Cy kisses the top of my head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I exhale and slowly pull away from his tight grip.

“Can you see the hallway?”

“Yeah.”

“Is your ass numb?”

Cy smirks. “Very.”

“Then, come on. We need to be on the bus in twenty minutes.”

I start to stand, but Cy grabs my hand, his eyes locking with mine.

“I do love you. No matter what I’ve said, what I’ve done. That’s not a lie. I can’t wipe away the past, but I need you to know that. Tell me you believe me.”

The lump in my throat is hard to swallow and makes it hard to think straight, but I offer a small smile. Cy looks like he is on the verge of panicking, so I nod.

“I believe you.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust those words, but that won’t change anything right now.

Cyrus relaxes, sighs, and lets me help him stand. We’re quiet as we walk to his room. He’s not leaning on me, but he clings to my arm like he still needs the support and the contact to feel safe.

My plan is to wait out in the hall, but he tugs me inside with him.

“I wrote you a song,” Cy says.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Grabbing the pile of clothes on the dresser, he heads into the bathroom but keeps the door open.

God help me, I maneuver around so I can see him in the mirror. His tall, fit body and hard ass immediately draw my eye. But his intricate tattoo that practically points like an arrow to the piercing in the tip of his dick have my mouth watering.

I’m a slut. That’s all there is to it. I’m a slut for Cyrus Vale, and I can never let him know it.

“Can I read it?”

“Sure, it’s in my songbook on the nightstand.”

Walking over, I pick it up, but the corner of a ratty, turquoise book under his pillow catches my eye. As if I’m in someone else’s body, I see myself reaching for it. I know what it is, but how the fuck does Cyrus have it?

My hand wraps around my diary. I’ve had it for so many years that I don’t even know how it’s still intact. My last entry was just before I left for California, but I could’ve sworn I packed this with the items shipped to my father’s house.

Anger replaces shock as I realize that Cyrus stole this from me. As if everything else he has done to me isn’t bad enough. He has consumed my innermost thoughts and fears. This is years’ worth of trauma in one book.