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“Allie.” His rough voice rumbles through me. “Look at me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I still love you, and you still love me.”
“I don’t.”
He growls. “Haven’t you felt it these last weeks?”
“I—” My voice breaks.
He slams his fist against the wall.
“Stop blaming me. Stop blaming yourself. Talk to me!” he yells before pacing around the room. “Lay it out for me. I’m not afraid of you. Hurt me. It doesn’t fucking matter. I will never shy away from the past. It has shaped us in more ways than we want to admit.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“But it also binds us till the day we die. And we lost the baby, and that fucking hurts more than what we ever did to each other.” He looks at me and I can’t take my eyes off him. “That destroyed us, and we both dealt with it in our own ways. Please, say something,” he finishes, his voice breaking.
“Navarone.” I hate the sound of my voice when the tears spill over.
“I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be happy ever again. But having you here with me the last couple of weeks has been torture.” His voice is deep and hoarse.
I hang my head. He grabs my arms, shaking me a little.
“You need to hear this. When the guys came to see me at Granddad’s farm in the mountains, asking if I would record in Nashville, I thought they were messing with me. How were they able to forgive me when I couldn’t forgive myself?”
I turn around, looking at the window and following the droplets of rain moving down the glass.
“I have been a selfish bastard, and I’ve hated myself every day since I walked out on you, on us.”
He reaches for me, and I tremble under his touch.
In a voice softer than I’ve heard it before, he says, “You are the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I know I gambled and lost in Vegas. We married too quickly, but it was never about not loving you. I guess I loved you more than I ever did myself.”
“Don’t,” I bark, my voice hard. Something twists inside of me. I don’t want to listen to this.
“I have never loved another. I’ve spent the last years fantasizing about you. About your smile, the way you talk, your stories, the badass you’ve become. I know I was never good at making conversation. Most of the time it takes me too long to find the words. But you listened, babe. You still do.” He pauses. “I dreamed about how you tasted, how you moved under me. How my dick felt pulsing inside of you. I jerked off thinking about you in the back lounge of the tour bus when the guys were busy fucking chicks in the front.”
“Yeah, right. I know I was just another notch on your guitar.”
His nostrils flare, strands of his hair falling in front of his eyes. “You weren’t the only one. Fuck, I’ll admit it. I needed to fuck someone. It didn’t matter to me; I was drunk off my ass most of the time.”
“Well, that warms my heart,” I drawl.
He stops pacing, pulling on his hair. “I didn’t mean—shit, Al. Sure, I liked the bras being thrown onstage. What twenty-one-year-old wouldn’t? The sad part is, I wanted your white fucking panties in my hands to jerk off too. Fuck, I still have the ones I stole when you were sixteen and we made love in California for the first time.”
“Is this supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Hearing how some chick sucked your dick when you thought about me? Thanks for the visual, and I want my underwear back, asshole,” I snap, crossing my arms. Although I know perfectly well my ass has grown a size or two, whatever.
He growls and I brace myself for something to fly through the air like in the old days. But he takes a deep breath and focuses his attention back on me. I can see the melancholy and regret in his gaze.
“Or is this the AA talking?” I bite on my lip. I’m sounding like a bitch, when I’m actually proud of him for taking those steps.
His voice is raspy and uneven when he says, “Having you near me but still far away has been living hell. I longed for you, longed to hear a kind word.” He brushes a hand over his stubble. “I longed for a look that would open the door back to your heart. But the thoughts I’ve seen reflected in your eyes have always been ones of regret. I doubted Gunner and Axl’s pleas to come back. I shouldn’t have said yes when they ganged up on me, together with Sterling and the boys.”
I groan.
Rone’s deep voice is hoarse when he drawls, “Sure, you’re still my wife. But a ring doesn’t mean shit if it’s about the promises you keep, or in my case, break.”
I clear my throat. “You weren’t the only one doing the breaking.” My voice is small.
