I do. It sloshes, some spilling down my chin. She grabs a towel and wipes it away without comment.
“I’m not messing up your night?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Not at all.”
I look at her over the rim of the glass. I can tell she’s lying. Not maliciously. Like she thinks the lie might cushion the truth.
“I fucked us up, didn’t I?” I say quietly.
Her breath stutters. “Dorian…”
“I did,” I press on. “I see it now. I pushed and I ran and I got scared and I acted like an asshole. And now you smell like them.”
Her cheeks flush. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” I say. “Nothing about me is.”
She kneels in front of me again, searching my face. “Is there someone I should call? Your father? A friend?”
A bitter laugh rips out of me. “My father is a bastard.”
Her brows knit together. “What happened?”
“He remarried,” I say. “Younger. Flashier. Likes boats and charity galas.”
Norah’s lips press together.
“He didn’t even wait a year after I moved away for him to introduce me to his new lover,” I add.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“Maybe I was always doomed to be like him,” I say. “Selfish. Avoidant. Running when things get hard.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “You’re not him.”
I lean forward, my forehead almost touching hers. Her scent floods me again. Sweet. Heated. Full of things she’s pretending she doesn’t want.
“I never stopped loving you,” I say. The words come out thick and raw. “I’m so tired of fighting it.”
She closes her eyes. “You’re drunk.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying,” I insist.
She helps me up again, guiding me toward her bedroom. Each step feels like wading through water.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmur.
She glances back, eyes shining. “Dorian…”
“I mean it,” I say. “And I’m glad you’re moving on from me. Even if it kills me. I never deserved you anyway.”
She stops at the bedroom door. Turns. Cups my face again. Her hands are trembling now, too.
“You deserved love,” she says. “You still do. And I’m so sorry for what’s going on with your father. I’m sorry for your dad, and that you never felt like you could tell me. I hate that you feel alone. I hate it.”
“It’s okay. I deserve it,” I say, but my words come out all slurred.
She helps me onto the bed. I sink into the mattress, exhaustion dragging me under fast. She pulls my shoes off, tugs a blanket over me.
