"I'm sorry," I whisper, bringing her fingers to my lips. "I'm so fucking sorry, Jade."
"For what?" Her voice cracks. "What exactly are you sorry for?"
Everything. The way I'm breaking us apart one secret at a time.
But I can't say that. So, I say the only truth I can manage.
"For hurting you. For making you doubt us."
Her chin trembles. I watch her fight it—the tears, the vulnerability—and it destroys me. This woman who trusted me with everything. Who chose me when she could have had anyone.
And I'm ruining her.
"Devon..." She shakes her head, but she's not pulling away. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be around you and not wonder?—"
I kiss her.
It's selfish. Iknowit's selfish. But I need her to feel what I can't say—that she's everything, that losing her would end me, that I would tear myself apart to undo what I've done.
She hesitates, but then she kisses me back.
It's different to how it usually is between us—there's nothing gentle about the way her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer like she's punishing me and needing me all at once. I pour every ounce of regret and love—and desperation—into the kiss, trying to show her what my words keep failing to express.
“I’m so mad at you,” she gasps against my mouth.
"I know."
We stumble toward the stairs, our mouths still fused together, hands grasping and urgent. By the time we reach the bedroom—ourbedroom, where I haven't slept in days—we're both trembling.
I lower her onto the bed, and she pulls me down with her, and for one moment, I let myself believe this can fix us. That if I worship her body the way she deserves, she'll feel how much I love her. She'll know.
"Look at me," she demands, and I do.
Her eyes are wet, stormy, and wounded. She's beautiful and broken, and it's my fault—all of it is my fault.
“Tell me you didn’t do anything with her,” she whispers.
I have to hold eye contact while I lie again, the promise that I did nothing slipping from my treacherous lips.
I fucking hate myself.
“I did nothing with her, baby.”
I hold her gaze as I move inside her, as her breath catches and her back arches. I watch the tears slip from the corners of her eyes, and I feel my throat burn with everything I'm holding back.
This isn't makeup sex or any kind of reconciliation. This is two people clinging to each other in the wreckage of what they used to be.
Jade's nails dig into my shoulders as she loses it beneath me, and I follow her over the edge moments later, burying my face in her neck to hide the way my own eyes are stinging.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, our breathing ragged.
She's crying silently. I can feel her tears dampening my chest.
"Jade—"
"Don't." Her voice is raw. "Don't say anything."
I hold her instead, stroking her hair while she cries.
