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“Hey,” he says while finding my cheek with his hand. “Together?”
I lean into him and smile. “Together.”
We walk the rest of the hall side by side, silently working to get a glass and fill it with water. I take a sip and offer it to him. There’s something so intimate about our lips touching the same cup. Once we’re finished, we go back the way we came, not another sound filling the house other than the gentle patters of our footsteps on the wood floor.
I pull myself onto the bed and scoot far enough over to give Simon room.
“Are you sure?” he asks me. “I shouldn’t—”
“What are they going to do? Shoot me?” I pat the spot next to me.
“Don’t joke about something like that.” Simon exhales and kicks off his shoes. He lowers himself onto the mattress and extends his arm. “If I’m going to die, I might as well enjoy it. Come here.”
I grin and melt myself into him, resting my head between his collar and jaw.
“Are you comfortable, love?”
I mumble into him, my eyes already growing heavy by the second.
He places his hand on my waist instead of my arm, being careful not to bump my bandage. Simon drags his finger along my forehead to tuck my hair behind my ear. He kisses my temple. “Good night, love.”
“Good night, Simon.”
And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I sleep without nightmares.
26
COEN
Ifucked up. Big time. And everything I do only continues to dig the hole bigger and bigger with no chance of me ever dragging myself out.
I’ve ruined things with June. And with her slipping further out of my grasp, I feel my humanity tumbling out the door with her.
If only there were a way to turn back time. I’d snap my fingers and be back on that street and never get in the truck with my dad. I’d demand that I stay with her. I would have put my foot down and insisted that he go on his own. He would have died either way, he didn’t need me there with him. I didn’t have to witness his murder. I didn’t have to become a part of that world. I didn’t have to lose the last remaining years of my adolescence to a life of crime.
But that’s the reality of it—I was just a kid. And here I am, blaming that kid for the situation I’m in now.
I could have made the choice to find her, to come clean about why I had left. I could have made things right, and we could have picked up where we left off. But I chose to stay away. I did that, not anyone else. And I chose to keep my distance until there was no other choice.
Even when she sat down next to me with that handful of wildflowers, I knew that I would be the worst thing in her life.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think a part of me was purposely sabotaging this all because I’ve known from the start that I was never good enough for her.
If I just push her away, she'll never find out the truth about who I am and the things I've done. I wouldn't ruin her, corrupt her, or shape her into something she wouldn't recognize.
I could save her from a life of torment if I bottled it all up and kept it for myself. She wouldn’t have to see the darkness if I carried it for both of us.
But no matter how hard I try, nothing I do stops the darkness from dancing closer to her.
She hates me, and I don’t blame her. I’d hate me, too. For the past, for the present, and for the future I can never give her. I don’t know how to be the man she deserves because I am incapable of being good.
She is everything to me, but to her, I am nothing.
June would have been better off never meeting me. Then I never would have ruined her idea of love—I never would have broken her heart, and it never would have set her on the path to finding us. Maybe she would have fallen for a nice guy, a reliable guy, someone who could love her and keep her safe. Truly safe, protected from this life of crime we will never be able to escape from.
Bryant keeps making sure Dom and I know that Simon is better for her than us, but he’s just as corrupt as we are. And according to what happened last night, he’s incapable of protecting her.
I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t fucking function knowing I’ve fucked things up this bad. To the point that I no longer recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.
