Page 273 of Sorrow & Strangers

“Why?” he asks, and I can feel the intensity of his gaze as he studies me.

“Because I miss you.”

He softens and moves in, his steps eating up the distance between us. “You miss me?” he asks, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

“Yes.” I look up at him, craning my neck a little.

He cups my cheek, and I wish I could feel the true roughness of his hand against my skin. “Tell me how you miss me.”

“Stranger . . .” I hesitate.

“So I can tell you how I missed you,” he says, sliding his arm around my waist and pulling me against him.

My breath hitches at the feel of his hard body against mine. “I miss the way I feel when I’m around you.” The power, the darkness, the desire. “The sound of your voice. The feel of your skin . . .”

He glides his thumb along my bare back. “I miss your touch. Your kiss. Your warmth,” he whispers, and I can almost not hear him over the roar of my heart in my ears. “Feeling not alone.”

He feels it too . . .

“Your taste,” he murmurs, and I bite back a moan as he leans in and brushes his lips along my jaw.

“Stranger . . .” I say, placing my hand on his chest. It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out more as a plea.

He covers my hand on his chest. “Yes, princess?”

Be strong.

I push against his chest, putting a little space between us. “Friends,” I say, trying to infuse some confidence into my tone. I feel his intense stare locked on me. “Last time when we were more. That’s when things got complicated.” I swallow, trying to find a stitch of strength, to make my voice strong and firm. “So this time, firmly friends.” I have no idea if it’ll work, but I know I need him in my life, that the draw to him is too much to ignore.

He squeezes my hand and pulls back. It’s only a half step, but I exhale heavily.

“You’ll leave if I don’t agree to these terms?” he asks.

“Truthfully? I have no idea.” There are times I would destroy the world to hear his voice. There are moments when I would burn everything to the ground to have another five minutes in that pergola with him.

He watches me for a moment, and then his shoulders relax a little. “Friends.”

“Really?”

“For now,” I say, feeling his gaze rake over me.

My stomach knots at the thought, but I need to ask. “And Max?”

His shoulders go rigid again. “I will behave,” he grates out.

I can tell the thought causes him actual physical pain, but I need to be explicit here. I have to make sure there are no workarounds. “Even if he and I are⁠—”

He covers my mouth, stopping my words. “Please. It’ll only make it worse.”

I watch him, and I feel sympathy.

“I will behave. That is all I can give for now.”

“Can I help in some way?” I ask, though it’s a stupid question. The way I can help is to stop seeing Max. To stop fucking him, but there is something inside me that is begging me not to give up Max. Not to give up the version of me I thought had died with Connor. The possibility of a normal future in which I am someone good.

“Help?”

“To make it easier?”