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His eyes grow even harsher. “Him. Did you text him?”
“Text w-who?”
“Your boyfriend.”
And then I know.
I know why he’s looking at me like that. And what’s happening here.
Because he knows.
I think he knows everything. Everysinglething.
Despite it being completely inadvisable, I go, “Ex-boyfriend.”
His fists clench and he takes another step forward.
This time, however, I hold my ground.
Even though this last step was the most threatening and dangerous of all the others that came before.
“Did you or did you not,” he says, his words biting, “text him?”
“I —”
“Did you or did you not blow up his fucking phone with texts?”
“Reign, I —”
“Did you or did you not go behind my fucking back and blow up hisfuckingphone with texts, Echo?”
I raise my hand. “Reign, listen —”
“Did you,” he leans down then, his eyes fiery, “or did you not, Echo?” He doesn’t give me time to say anything at all and keeps going, “Go behind my fucking back when you knew you were mine. When I specifically told you that you were mine. When you fucking promised me thatyou were mine. Did you do that or —”
“I did,” I say hastily.
And the breath he takes at that is so loud and so heavy that it sounds like a growl.
I jerk closer to him. “But only because I’m yours.”
Another growly breath.
“B-because I wanted…”
“Wanted what?”
His words are growls too. And they clench my heart.
They fucking clench my soul.
Because I know how this is going to sound. Howawfulthis is going to sound.
How the truth will come out.
All my lies catching up to me.
But then from the looks of it, they already have, so.
