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I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“That’s great, Roman.”
“Is it?” It didn’t fucking feel it. It felt like I was in for a whole lot of ‘worse before it’s better’. Still, better was on the horizon. So I was told.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“You made your decision. Mine was court mandated.”
She frowned in confusion now. “Court mandated?”
I laughed humourlessly. “Yeah. Rocco decided he wasn’t coming to the ‘rescue’ anymore. He did pay the fine, but I have community service for six months and mandated counselling.”
“You never said.”
I shook my head. “I didn’t want you to think less of me than you already did.”
She cupped my cheek. “No judgements, remember?”
I leant my forehead to hers. “No judgements.”
Every word she said just made me realise I’d done the right thing. It might have taken me too long to pull my head out of my arse, but I’d done it.
She was still smiling. “But mandated or not, you’re going.” It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an order.
“Of course, I’m going.”
I’d get gaol time if I didn’t go, and I’d be dead before I missed out on any time with her, Maddy and Mum. It wasn’t lost on me that having some real repercussions to my actions seven years earlier might have helped straighten me out faster. It was something else to be mad at Rocco about, but I was working through that. Apparently.
Piper ran her hand through my hair and looked me over.
I didn’t know how I thought she and Mason had been all loved-up. Clearly I’d just been seeing what I’d wanted to see so I could hate myself even more. The look in her eyes now? That was love. And it was love for me.
I was still terrified I’d fuck it up. Rocco’s voice in my head hadn’t been silenced just because I was working on drowning it out. But the woman in front of me made it easier to ignore. She loved me, as fucked up as I was. She hadn’t healed me, but she’d made me realise that I could change, that I wanted to change and that was halfway to changing already. She’d shown me I could give her what she needed without even trying.
Maybe I would still fuck it up.
Maybe it just wouldn’t last, and it not really be anyone’s fault.
Maybe we’d die, holding hands and remembering nothing but each other, well into our nineties.
I wasn’t a fucking fortune teller. I didn’t know what was going to happen. But I didn’t care anymore. I was hers and she was mine, and my life – and me – would only ever be better for it no matter what happened.
We were two people who never should have found each other. Our whole relationship was due to nothing more than an accidental meeting. But it was perfect. We were perfect. The whole thing was perfectly accidental, and accidentally perfect.
