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“Loni,” she whispered, the truth gouging furrows in the meat of her heart. “You married her because you felt guilty about the accident—”
“It wasn’t an accident. Accidents happen when no one is at fault—I was at fault! I was drinking, and I knew I shouldn’t be driving, but I did it anyway—”
“Which isn’t cold-blooded murder, you asshat!” she yelled, slamming her palm into his chest. “You were a dumb kid. You overestimated your ability to drink and drive. Millions of dumb kids do that every year. It was just a fucking awful accident that killed your best friend; you didn’t do that on purpose. You didn’t drag him to the car, tie him to his seat, and then purposefully drive your car into that guard rail.” She gripped his face in her hands, holding his eyes in place as she stared him down, desperately trying to get through to him. “It was a horrible accident where Jake died. Yes, you were a dumb, drunk idiot who should have called an Uber, but blaming yourself for him not wearing a seatbelt, blaming yourself that Yolanda was not wearing her seatbelt, blaming yourself for murder—that’s straight-up bullshit. Take the blame for drinking and driving, but not for the idiocy of your friends, who were sober enough to know to buckle the fuck up in case of an accident. They knew you were drunk, for fuck’s sake. From what the police report said, Jake would have survived with a few bruises, scrapes, and broken ribs if he hadn’t been thrown through the windshield and onto the hood.”
Sly grimaced, his gorgeous face twisting at her words.
“I was there. I remember it. I remember waking up and hearing him as he died…calling out for me.”
A blast of cold air off the ocean slammed into her, and she shivered.
Sly sighed, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Come on, baby. Let me take you home.”
And she did, letting him lead her to his car and drive to her condo. But she was nowhere near done talking to him. He listened and held her up, keeping her from slipping under the pain when she tore open her chest and laid herself bare, and now she’d do the same for him. Whether he liked it or not. Because she was tired of hiding. Fading. Letting all the shit of life dictate who she was. She was Sallina Mendez, and she was in love with Sylvester White—she just had to tighten up her lady balls and stay. No running. Not again. Because Sly would just keep chasing her.
So, she’d sit and talk with him. Be his strength this time around.
Because if they had even a snowball’s chance in hell of having a future together, Sly needed to face his past.
And ditch the ex-wife.
