Sofia watches me fidget, a flicker of worry in her gaze. “Look, I know it’s not really my place, but… you’ll tell me if there’s something going on with Dean, right?”
I hesitate, pressing my lips together. How do I tell my best friend that there’s another side to Dean that nobody knows about. One that is violent and threatening, and that only emerges when he’s in a fit of jealous rage? How do I tell her that he can’t even control his own temper, let alone recognise when he’s actually hurting someone?
The truth is I can’t tell her any of this, no matter how desperately I want to. She’ll only blame herself, carrying immense guilt for introducing us in the first place and encouraging the relationship between Dean and me.
Besides, it’s only ever been that one time. I’m sure that after what went down last night with Jason, Dean has learnt his lesson the hard way. He’s apologised profusely ever since, and I genuinely believe he means it.
“Of course,” I reassure my best friend. “But you have nothing to worry about, Sof.
What happened at the restaurant was just two testosterone-fuelled men, who have disliked each other from the start. It’s probably their big egos taking full control of their brains.”
She looks half convinced, but she nods anyway. “Well, one thing’s for sure... they can’t be in the same room together ever again.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Damn straight, sister. Damn fucking straight.”
I finally got a text from Dean later in the afternoon, asking if he could come over. I wasn’t in the mood to see him so soon after the incident in my room two nights ago, but knowing him, he probably won’t take no for an answer. So, I agreed.
It’s 6 p.m. sharp when the sound of the door unlocking signals Dean’s arrival. He steps into the apartment wearing a navy hoodie and light blue ripped jeans. Tonight, he has a black baseball cap pulled low instead of his hair being perfectly styled as usual, and the look on his face tells me he hasn’t had a wink of sleep either.
“Hey.” I smile at him from where I’m sitting on the couch, watching TV.
He saunters over and immediately pulls me up, wrapping me in a hug. His nose sinks into my neck as he breathes me in.
“God, it feels so good holding you in my arms again. I’ve missed you so much.”
I let out a small laugh. “It’s only been two days, babe.”
“That’s two days too long.” He pulls back slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, careful to avoid the small bump and bruise on my forehead from hitting the doorframe. Then he leans down for a kiss—long and deep, just like every time he kisses me.
After what feels like a good three minutes of intense making-out, we finally break apart.
“Something smells really good.” He lifts his nose, sniffing the air.
“I ordered your favourite cashew nut chicken. Go take a seat on the couch. I’ll bring your meal to you.”
He does as I say while I plate the food and pour wine into our glasses, then carry them over to the coffee table one by one.
“Thanks, baby,” he says with a warm smile, his gaze slowly taking in my outfit—an olive-green quarter-sleeved dress. “And may I just add how incredibly beautiful you look tonight.”
I feel my cheeks flush, and I quickly look away as I take a seat beside him. When I hand Dean his plate, his gaze latches onto the dark, purplish bruises on my wrists. His eyebrows furrow, his eyes hard, guilt etched across his face.
“Dean—”
“I’m a bastard,” he cuts me off, shaking his head like he’s disgusted with himself.
“I’m a fucking bastard for doing that to you.” He reaches over and gently strokes my wrist. “I should’ve never grabbed you like that. I should’ve never lost my cool and shoved you. There’s no excuse for what I did, and for that, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Mila.” His voice catches on the last part, and that’s when I notice the tears welling in his eyes.
My expression softens a little. Regret shadows his face, remorse colouring every word, and despite myself, I can’t help but feel a pang of pity for him.
Placing my hand on his, I exhale a deep breath. “You’re right, Dean. You should’ve never lost control the way you did. And you should’ve never, ever laid a hand on me.” I pause when Dean wipes a tear from his face with his hand. “While it’s going to take some time for me to rebuild that trust with you again, I’m willing to give you another chance. But you have to work on that anger of yours, because make no mistake, Dean, if you ever hurt me again, it’s over between us.”
He swallows heavily, then slowly nods. “I swear to you, Mila. I’ll never hurt you again. I’d rather die than see the pain and fear in your eyes like I did that night. I promise I’ll work on getting my anger under control. You have my word.”
As much as I want to believe him, I can’t. I have to protect myself first and foremost.
His words mean nothing until I see him putting in the work and getting the help he needs.
“I want to believe you, Dean. But it’s going to take more than just your word.”
