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I get home, setting up my dinner on the coffee table, pretending it’s a proper apartment and I’m not eating next to my bed. I feel a little guilty. It’s hard to appreciate my tiny studio after spending the night at his place in the Village.
No matter how many great thrift store finds I collect, this place will never feel like his. I should be grateful. I shouldn’t compare.
Nothing compares to the Village.
Nothing compares… to him.
“Geez.” I push my fries away, the grease suddenly settling weirdly in the pit of my stomach. I take a bite of the sandwich, but it’s tasteless, turning to sawdust in my mouth. “I’m a wreck.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. An unexpected wave of anger tears through me. I stand, gathering the food in my hands. Why did I think I could move on from him? If I’d truly moved on… one night wouldn’t have me spinning out like this.
I pack the food up for later. Has anyone found a good way to reheat fries? There’s always ketchup, I guess.
I stomp around my apartment, talking out loud to myself like a psycho. My hands go from my hips to the top of my head, back to my hips as I make a loop around my tiny place.
“When did I decide I can’t be with a bad boy, anyway? It’s not like he ever got violent with me.” I tug on the end of my ponytail.
I think of last night, the punishing marks he left on my body. I absolutely loved the pleasure-filled pain his expert hands drew from my body.
“All he ever did was protect me. He’s right. If he hadn’t mur—” I can’t say the word out loud. “If he hadn’t done what he did to Trevor I’d be the one six feet under. Me. Dead.” I let that sink in. The thought of Trevor stalking me, terrorizing me, threatening me. Hurting me. He was never, ever going to stop. And we all know the statistics of the law keeping women like me safe. It just doesn’t happen.
“Was there any other way to keep me safe? Other than Beckett…” I force myself to say the word out loud. He deserves it after what he did for me. “Killing him. There was absolutely no way to keep me safe other than Beckett killing Trevor.”
The truth sinks in. Beckett killed for me. He’d do anything for me. I think of the gifts, the coat, the food deliveries. What did I do for him?
I left him.
I had to. I needed to. I needed to get out on my own so that I could have this moment, right here, right now, realizing Beckett’s exactly the kind of man I want.
The man I need.
He’s the reason why I’m alive. He’s my savior. My mafia savior. And I need to accept him just the way he is.
And now I know—I want to be the one to live.
I just don’t want to live without him.
“I have to go to him.” I grab my coat from the hook by the door, ready to run out into the cold night, finding my way to the Village.
I open the door, and in my rush, I stumble. “What’s that?” I glance down to find a small package waiting for me outside the door. I almost tripped over it.
It’s a little red box, wrapped with a gold ribbon. I pick it up. I’m surprised by its weight for its size.
Who left it here? What’s inside?
There’s a note, tucked underneath the ribbon, a piece of yellow paper folded so small I didn’t see it at first. I slip it out from under the ribbon.
Unfolding it, I catch the clean scent of Beckett’s cologne. Instantly, I recognize my own handwriting. The word Sorry is scribbled at the top of the yellow paper.
“It’s the note I wrote in the Hub. He kept it.”
I go back inside, closing the door and hanging my coat back up. I curl up on my couch to read what he’s written below my apology.
I’m sorry I took away your choice
I had to
If it was my life or his I would have let you choose
