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Present day—Ain’t My Fault distillery, Nashville
Ipush Rone away from me, but he pulls me back by my T-shirt against his hard chest.
Why did I ever agree to this date? Why do I always give in to him?
“I’m not going to keep asking you to give me another chance,” he rasps, his voice deep. It burns right through me.
“No, damn it,” I say, holding him away from me. “You can’t do this to me again. You left once. What will stop you from doing it again?” My anger taking the front seat I ask, “What stops you from swallowing a whole pharmacy and forcing yourself on me again?”
He runs his hands through his hair. “Like you did with me in LA four years ago?” His voice loses steam.
My breath catches as the night I spent in our house in Los Angeles flashes before my eyes.
The muscles in his arms flex. “Nothing that you say or won’t say will change the fact I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you in that motel room.” His intense stare holds me captive.
I hate that the love we had still burns between us. It felt like the flame became smaller over time but it is now raging inside me again like wildfire.
“I’m back. I have been for a long time,” he says, dropping his arms. “Back at our LA house was the last time I drank or did drugs. I’m done with that life. It was the last time I’d fuck you drunk. I see you now, babe. I see it all.”
He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to give you space to find someone else, someone better. I’m not the boy I used to be. I wasn’t living back then. You changed me. Hell, I needed time to try and forget about you.”
“How’s that been working out, babe?” I ask.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” he says, letting his arms fall. “We were kids.” His voice shakes with anger. “I was still a kid. I couldn’t handle all the guilt. Because I know I did it.”
I frown. “What?”
“I was never the husband you deserved. If I hadn’t drank bottle after bottle. If I hadn’t chased some pipe dream, none of this would have happened. I knew you didn’t want to go on tour with me, but I made you,” he says before sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.
“The drugs I took ... I knew what could happen. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d trashed a hotel room or got into a fight, not having any memories the next morning.” His breath shudders. “I blacked out more times than I can count on these two hands.” His voice is breaking, as does my heart. Because now I know I forgave him a long time ago. I’ve been angry, sure. But I have forgiven him. Fuck, I still love him.
“I’m so sorry,” he groans. “I tried to drink the pain away. The pain of being the reason for your anger. What I did in that motel room is unforgivable.”
“That wasn’t the reason why I lost the baby, I asked the doctor after you left the hospital and he told me it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” I say, my voice soft as I kneel in front of him.
He doesn’t look at me when he shakes his head.
“Look at me.”
He can’t meet my eyes. I need to tell him, convince him. “You had nothing to do with our baby’s death. Sometimes there’s a different plan. We can’t follow a roadmap; we have to find our own way.” I take his hands before kissing his palms and tasting the salt of his tears. “What happened then wasn’t the reason we lost the baby.” Grabbing his shirt between my shaking fingers I pull him into my embrace. Our breaths mingle and I melt against him. His legs are on either side of my hips.
“Don’t you know I missed you every damn day? I knew I had to get my shit together and be the man you deserved. I was broken. I didn’t want you to take care of me when you needed to heal yourself,” he whispers into my hair, holding me tight to his body.
My tears spill over. “I needed you. I needed you and it didn’t matter to me which part I got. You being there—I only ever wanted you. No one else.” I lay my head against his strong chest, holding onto him. “After everything, I wanted you,” I say, caressing his cheeks.
“I still love you, Al. I know now I should have left it all behind,” he whispers, kissing my forehead. His lips linger on my skin and I tremble under his touch. He notices it too and his hardness brushes against my stomach. I should let go, but I can’t. Not when I need him more than I want to admit to myself.
He rubs my cheekbone with his calloused thumb. “I never stopped loving you. You are on my mind every damn day. You’re the first person I think of when I open my eyes and the last on my mind when I close them. I hate that you’re not here to come home to.”
“Navarone,” I groan, before kissing him.
He stiffens at first, but when my fingers move into his hair, his body relaxes, and he pulls me toward him.
Leaning back, I look deep into his eyes. The hurt in them tears me apart. “I need time,” I say.
“Will you ever love me again like you once did?” He asks, his voice hoarse.
I don’t know what to tell him. I brush my hands through his hair, and he melts into my touch. He wraps one hand around the back of my neck and the other under my butt, pinning me to his lap. I can’t say it now—not when he won’t believe it himself. He has to be ready to hear it, to forgive himself.
