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But his words hit me harder.
They hit me right in the center of my chest and I know.
I finally know why he’s here.
I can see it in his eyes, how heated they are, how harsh.
How his jaw is pulsing, how tense his large frame is.
“I —”
“How he came all the way from New York to see you tonight. For your fucking birthday.”
“Reign, I —”
He puts his arm up, gripping the bedpost that I’m glued to, up above my head. “Andhow,” his grip on the post tightens, those distracting biceps of his bulging, threatening to rip his dark t-shirt, “you broke his heart in return.”
I’m threatening to rip mine as well, my dress, at this.
With how tight I’m clutching it.
“I… I’m…”
“You did,” he growls, “didn’t you?”
I swallow thickly, looking up at his angry face, my heart twisting and clenching in my chest.
And I can’t help but ask, “Did he… Did he call you?”
“Whatthe fuckdo you think?”
“I-I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”
“Well, that’s great then, isn’t it? That you didn’t mean to.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m —”
“Do it.”
“What?”
He clenches his jaw for a second before growling, “Say yes.”
“W-what?” I repeat, my eyes wide and my breaths all fearful.
But apparently, it’s not enough for him.
He wants me even more afraid, even more shivery and shaky because he leans down, his eyes burning so bright that I feel harsh sun staring down at me. “Pick up your phone right the fuck now and tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
His nostrils flare as he grinds his teeth.
As he pushes himself to say the next words like he can’t bear to say them but he has to.
He needs to.
Because that’s why he came here.
