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“Being friends,” I repeat the word, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak, but all I crave is for him to pull me into his embrace. To erase all the pain I’ve accumulated from the past years without him.
“Yes, friends,” he says softly.
I remain silent as he suggests just being fucking friends. How can we go from the all-consuming love we once shared to hate and now something so casual? It feels like he’s offering me a single grain of sand after I’ve lost an entire world that was ours.
That’s all you get after the shitty years you spent hurting and hoping that you’d wake up from the nightmare, Seraphina. Good luck in your future endeavors.
This is supposed to be an uncomfortable breakthrough, yet I feel like I’m breaking all over again. My heart is shattering, and the pieces are so tiny they might never be able to meld together.
“Okay, then, let’s be friends,” I mumble, staring at the door. Maybe it’d be best if I leave now and catch a train, so I get home back in time to pick up the kids.
Brahms steps closer. “Sephie, I need you to tell me what you’re thinking—” he urges, tentatively brushing a curl behind my ear. His touch sends a shiver through me. “You have to communicate your needs. I can’t guess what you want—and if you hide yourself because of fear or anger, we might miss another seven years of our lives.”
I wrap my arms around myself tightly. “What’s there to say, Brahms? We let life break what we had. I was blinded by my parents’ pain and didn’t listen to you, and now . . .” I trail off, throat tightening.
“And I didn’t fight hard enough because I was broken,” he says heavily. I can see the regret haunting his eyes. “Those years with you were the best of my life. I’ll never regret them. But back then, I just pushed away all the trauma and pain from the accident. I was a ticking bomb, Sephie.”
He takes a shaky breath, and I have to stop myself from pulling him into a comforting embrace. He looks so vulnerable, so much like the boy I once knew—like the man I fell in love with.
“I want to see where this will go, but we need to put the happiness of our kids first.”
“I would like that,” I say because telling him that I’m hurting even more and that . . . the past is over, but maybe it’s not healthy to bring it back, right?
“Maybe it’s too late, but I’m here now, and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to be the father my children need and, hopefully, the man you deserve.” His voice drops to a pained whisper. “Just tell me if there’s any hope for us. Because if there’s even the smallest chance, I have to try. I can’t lose you again, miss another opportunity to be with you. I want to try, but also, I want to make sure that our children are happy and safe. I love you, Sephie. I will never stop loving you.”
Through my blurred vision, I see him—vulnerable, his shoulders hunched slightly as if carrying an invisible burden. The lines of his face are more pronounced, creased with pain, his eyes darting away for a moment, trying to hide all his regrets. My heart aches at the sight.
“We should take this slow,” Brahms says softly, his thumb gently caressing my cheek.
His touch is so tender, as if I’m something precious and delicate. I lean into it instinctively, like a sunflower seeking the warmth of sunlight.
“Slow,” I whisper back, pulse quickening as his face draws closer to mine.
Brahms’s blue eyes bore into me, the rest of the world falling away until it’s just us two. He looks at me as if I’m the most captivating creature he’s ever seen, a goddess, his queen.
When his lips finally brush mine, it’s with extreme gentleness, as if memorizing their shape and softness. The kiss is unhurried—soulful.
A reintroduction.
My hands come up to cradle his scruffy jaw, holding him there as we trade searching, healing kisses. This isn’t fiery passion, but a carefully stoked ember, glowing between us.
With sweet patience, Brahms explores my mouth, relearning what we once knew of each other by heart. It feels like coming home, like finding a missing piece of myself again after so many years adrift and alone.
When we stop, Brahms touches his forehead to mine, noses nuzzling. The intimacy of it makes my heart swell and ache.
“It’ll be as slow as you need, baby,” he murmurs. “We can’t change the past, but we can fight for a future together.”
Brahms is right. We can find a new future together.
“Why don’t I go with you to Connecticut?” he suggests, gently ushering me toward the door.
“I thought you were going to talk to your dad?” I ask in surprise.
Brahms shrugs. “Roger can wait a few more hours or days.”
We’re almost out the door when we nearly collide with Roger himself.
“I heard you were around. You’re looking sober,” Roger remarks drily.
