My stomach is folding in on itself. I have never wanted to admit this, even to myself, but for him, I will.
“Katie?”
“You said you’ve never felt like this before. But I have.” I push the words out, then lick my lips.
“When?”
An agonized breath slips out of me, and on its heels, “Of course I have, Tristan.” I nearly choke on the words. “Three years ago.”
I see the moment he understands.
59
TRISTAN
Oh, Katie.
Realization trickles through me, slow and cool, then fast, like I’m standing under a waterfall being battered from all sides. No one has ever wanted me like this, and I don’t know what to do. I have never been enough, but for Katie, I am.
Her lip trembles.
“Say something,” she whispers. “I just told you my deepest, darkest secret.”
I press my forehead to hers. “I am honored,” I breathe, “to be your deepest, darkest secret.” I stroke my fingers over the downy softness of her cheek.
My mind spins, rewriting history.
That time she refused to wear a dress I bought her and I caught her trying it on at home.
The time I caught her looking at me when I was swimming.
The time I looked too long at her.
And further back, the way things started to feel wrong with my girlfriend of three weeks as soon as I met Katie. Theway I kept trying to get interested in other women, but one text from her and I’d be too busy on my phone to make conversation.
And I thought I could marry someone else?
I am a fool.
“Did I hurt you very badly when I proposed like that?”
She pulls back, blinking, her lashes spiked and damp. “No,” she says fiercely. “No, Tristan. Never.”
“Don’t lie.” Her jaw sets. I cup her cheek. “You can be honest.”
“Fine. A little.” I can see her drawing herself up, taking shaky little sips of air. “This is hard for me,” she admits, her voice wavering. Her hands twist in her lap, and it makes me love her more. “I have loved you for so very long, Tristan. Not desperately like you said, but quietly. So quietly that I didn’t realize what it was until it was too late.”
“Not too late,” I say gently. My throat is thick and my head is buzzing.
“Sometimes it feels like you own pieces of me.” Her breath shudders out of her. “Like pieces of me didn’t even exist until you came along, and if you left, you’d take them with you. I think they might be the best ones, actually.”
“Katie,” I breathe. I can’t help but pull her against my chest. She tucks her face in my neck and I feel more than hear the sobs shaking her. I feel like crying too, an odd mix of happiness, hope, and regret that chases up my nose and throbs behind my eyes. “I know, sweetheart. I know.” I rub my hands over her back. “We wasted so much time, didn’t we? I was so blind. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not,” she mumbles, and a laugh rips from me, because she’s Katie even when she’s crying on my shoulder.
“I’ll never leave you,” I vow. I mold her to me with a hand on her spine. “I will always pick you.”
“I’ll pick you,” she challenges, her voice muffled and damp.
