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Her eyes flash in the mirror. “Don’t.”

“I’m not.” I reassure her knowing she has no desire to read that thing and instead wants Dallas to tell her whatever he wants her to know or not know.

She stares straight ahead, voice gone quiet. “Some women aren’t even able to have children, and then some of the ones that do…aren’t even fucking worthy of it.”

“Now that,” I say, jaw tight, “I fucking agree with.”

She rubs her hands together like she’s trying to wash off something invisible before finally turning to face me. Her eyes fall to my chest—to the wildflowers inked there like ghosts of her. “I’m not always angry with you.”

I take her chin in my hand, rough but careful. “Look at me, wildflower.”

Her scent hits me first and when her gaze lifts, it’s like she’s stripped herself bare.

“It hurts to look at you, Henny.”

Those words don’t just hit—they split me open. Quiet and lethal, like a knife under the ribs. I don’t flinch, but I feel it everywhere. My grip tightens a fraction. Not rough. Just…steadier than I feel.

She could’ve screamed at me. Hit me. Walked away. But this? This is worse.

I force down the lump clawing up my throat, hook my pinkie in hers like it’ll keep me from losing whatever’s left.

“I know I hurt you,” I say, voice thick, scraping its way out. “And you have no fucking idea how many times I’ve wished I could take back what I said to you that day.”

I look away for a beat, then back. “I told you to go see the world. I thought I was doing right by you. But I didn’t think you’d take my entire fucking world from me, holding it hostage for all these years.”

Her lip quivers. Still, she doesn’t speak.

“I never meant to call you a mistake,” I add, breathing through the sting in my chest. “I meant that what we did—that day—was one. Not because of you, but because I wasn’t in my right mind. Murph was fresh in the ground. You were crying, and all I could think about was getting you to stop. Getting you to breathe. You have no idea what it does to me when you cry, Lou.”

I step in closer, brush my thumb under her eye, rougher than I should be. “There’s nothing I hate more in this world than watching you cry.”

“When you do…it makes me feel like I failed. I’m not a man that takes failure in stride.” My voice drops to a hoarse rasp. “But that’s what all this time we’ve let slip through our fingers has felt like—failure. Every fucking second of it.”

She doesn’t speak, but her chest heaves like she’s holding in a scream. Or a sob.

I lean in, lips barely brushing the trail a tear leaves down her cheek. I taste salt and silence.

“But I’m done letting time slip through our fingers,” I tell her, voice a low growl now. “Done pretending like I don’t still want to fucking crawl inside your skin just to feel close again.”

I glance over at the bed, at the stupid wall of pillows she lines down the middle.

“I’m letting that pathetic barricade stay,” I mutter, “not because I respect it—but because I like knowing you still reach for me in your sleep despite it.”

Her eyes snap to mine. Vulnerable. Defiant.

“I’m going to keep touching you,” I go on, voice dipping into gravel. “Not because I’m owed it. Not because I’m trying to prove something. But because it’s mine. That mouth. That body. That soaked little cunt that trembles every time I even look at you like this.”

Her breath catches. Her legs press together without her meaning to.

“That doesn’t go away, Lou,” I say. “Not with time. Not with silence. You can build a fortress of pillows and spite between us, but I’m still the man who can make you feel whole.”

I step in, so close our lips nearly touch. “If you think for one second I’m satisfied with burying my tongue in that sloppy little pussy…I’m not. I want more—with you. I want the part that no one else sees. The part you hide even from yourself.”

Her breath catches, her eyes locking onto mine—searching, hesitant, like she’s balancing between trusting me and guarding herself.

“I see it, Lou,” I say, voice rough but steady, “the part you hide away. The part you’re terrified to show anyone. Hell, I’m scared too.”

My fingers find her jaw, tracing it slow and tentative, the smallest tremor betraying how much this moment means.