He said it like it was a fact. A cold truth that he’d carved into his own heart.
I kept my fingers moving through his hair, slower now, more deliberate. But inside, I was fracturing along with him.
“I shouldn’t have called her,” he whispered. “Should’ve just sat there. Let them keep me locked up. She wouldn’t have been on that road. Wouldn’t have been in that car.”
He pulled away just enough to look up at me, eyes glassy, red-rimmed, vacant in a way that scared me. I’d never seen him this open before… this vulnerable. That was usually my part. The part I showed constantly because I relied on him for that support.
He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Didn’t know how to carry this kind of guilt anymore.
“She was humming that morning,” he murmured. “Made pancakes before I left…”
His voice caught. “I didn’t even say ‘I love you’ before I hung up. She just told me she’d come, fix things like she always did, and I just… let the line go dead.”
God, I wanted to take it from him. The pain. The weight. The guilt. The way it hollowed him out like he didn’t deserve peace. But I couldn’t fix this. All I could do was stay by his side.
I leaned in, placing my head against his forehead. “You didn’t kill her,” I whispered. “Life doesn’t work like that.Paindoesn’t work like that.”
His grip loosened as he shook his head.
“I was the reason she was on that road,” he mumbled.
I grabbed the sides of his face with my hands, anchoring him before he could spiral back into the dark.
“And she would’ve gone anyway,” I said softly. “Because she loved you… Because she always showed up. You show up for her to this day, which shows how much you love her, too.”
He didn’t say anything else as his eyes met mine. I placed a soft kiss on his lips, reminding him I was with him, and he breathed out a sigh of relief against me.
Eventually he sank back down, head heavy in my lap. I stroked his hair and let him stay there. Watched him come back to himself slowly, inch by inch, the tension leaving his body one breath at a time.
Until his eyes finally closed and he was asleep again.
Chapter forty-four
Tristian
My fingers mapped the valley of her waist, my hands memorizing her body. Usually, the gym was my sanctuary—the place where I bled out my anger and grief. But waking up with Ingrid’s warmth pressed against my skin, the scent of her drowning out the old memories, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t need the punching bag, didn’t need the boxing gloves or the ring; I needed her. I’d always fucking need her.
I hadn’t dreamed that vividly of my mother in years. I was always better at blocking it out.
But the dream wasn’t a memory anymore. It was a warning. The silence of that hospital room had followed me home, heavy and suffocating, but looking down at Ingrid, I realized the silence had finally met its match.
Hearing Ingrid’s soft whines, I looked down at her, my gaze finding her among my racing thoughts, finally dragging myself out of the nightmare still clawing at the back of my skull. Now, I wouldn’t have to face that silence alone.
Her thighs shifted beneath the sheet, bare and soft, and I dragged my palm up over the curve of her hip, slow and greedy. I leaned in, brushing my lips over the space behind her ear, feeling her, breathing her in. Letting her warmth pull me in.
Her skin shivered under my touch, the vibration sending a surge of pure, unadulterated possession through my veins. Her mouth parted as she made the softest noise, half-asleep, sounding needy. My cock stirred against her thigh, the sound fueling me as she bit her lip.
I nudged her legs apart with my knee, slow, lazy, claiming the space between her thighs. My fingers cupped her heat over the fabric first, feeling the warmth there, the softness, the faint damp spot she’d already made.
Fuck.
I palmed her through the cloth, slow circles that had her breath stuttering in her sleep.
Her hips tilted up, chasing me as I pulled down her little shorts with ease, her tight little pussy already glistening wet and ready.
“Must be a pretty good dream,” I muttered as my dick strained against my joggers. I ran two fingers through her folds, slow and greedy, gauging how thoroughly I’d already ruined her sleep. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, watching the way she shifted toward me. “You always this sweet for me in your sleep, doll?”
Her eyes fluttered open just enough to meet mine, still half-dreaming. My finger pushed into her little cunt, her eyes watching me sleepily as I looked at her with a hooded gaze. She arched into my hand, her thighs parting wider like her body remembered me even before her little brain did.
