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‘Sleeping together is the only thing that’s ever made sense with us,’ he muttered.
‘At the time, yes, but it always makes things worse afterwards.’
‘Does it?’ He lifted a hand, catching her cheek. ‘Maybe if we never left bed, we’d never fight.’
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and then he was kissing her, his mouth claiming hers, and it was just as he said: everything made sense. This was exactly what she needed, what made her feel right and complete and as though everything was going to be all right. Her mouth filled with salt as tears rolled down her cheeks—not sad tears so much as tears of acceptance, because he was right. Theirs was a relationship of contradictions, of dependence and need, even when that need terrified them both.
‘This doesn’t solve anything,’ she groaned, even as she pulled him down to the floor.
‘No.’ His agreement sealed some part of her. She kissed him back with every fibre of her being, even as her heart was turning frozen, made frigid by the impossibility of this.
Their mutual explosion was as powerful as ever, robbing him of sight, sense and the ability to think while it racked his body, and then as he came down on top of her, his weight something she welcomed with a soft groan, he felt as though he’d done something monumentally stupid. Sleeping with Alicia might feel great in the moment, but it just complicated the issue.
They had a daughter. He couldn’t seduce his way out of that.
A tidal wave of emotions worked through him, anger at the forefront. But it wasn’t just anger at Alicia. It was so much more complicated than that.
He’d fought with her because he hadn’t been willing to give any ground, but her words had worked their way into his soul, and now, he saw her as the sixteen-year-old she’d been, pregnant and terrified, then a seventeen-year-old single mother, and he felt his own failings every step of the way.
Why hadn’t he called to check on her?
Why hadn’t he at least made sure her father hadn’t taken his anger out on Alicia once Graciano had left?
Because she was quicksand. Because a conversation could so easily turn into something more, and he hadn’t been willing to let her hurt him again. He hadn’t wanted to let her in.
And now?
‘I need to think,’ he said, shifting away from her and standing, frowning as he dressed. Alicia stayed where she was, staring at the ceiling. It was only when he was fully clothed and he looked at her again that she realised she was shaking.
He crouched beside her, unable to keep the concern from his face.
‘Shock,’ she said in explanation, her face pale. ‘I’m fine.’
And he saw her strength then, the strength she’d needed as Edward Griffiths’ daughter, the strength she’d needed as a teenage mother, and every day since.
She was quicksand.
He wanted to draw her into his arms, to hold her close, but there were several issues at play here. Being parents to a nine-year-old didn’t mean he was willing to open himself up to Alicia and the risks that came with being near her.
‘I need to think,’ he repeated, and now, she nodded. His eyes shifted to the book she’d made, on the edge of the bed. ‘Do you mind if I take that?’
She shook her head. ‘I made it for you.’ Her eyes stared right through him. ‘I wanted—what I wanted wasn’t possible, Graciano. But I always intended for you to know.’ She bit down on her lip.
He wanted to believe her. Hell, hedidbelieve her. But that just made everything worse. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then standing.
‘And eventually, I convinced myself that you’d have wanted it this way. Your life was so...much. It was huge. You were so successful, so far away from us. I told myself you’d want it this way. I meant nothing to you—why should you have to pay for a mistake you made ten years ago?’
That just made it so much worse—that she could even think that of him. A deep, shearing sadness broke him in two. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
He didn’t see the look of concern that crossed her features, but at the door, he turned back to face her and something inside of him shattered. He’d fallen in love with Alicia when she was just a teenager, and she looked so heartbreakingly young now. He stared at her for a moment and then left quickly, before he realised that the thing he wanted most of all was to stay.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GRACIANOCRADLEDTHEScotch in the palm of his hand, staring at the collection of memories with an ache low in his gut. He was only four pages in. He couldn’t get past Alicia’s handwritten note.
Annie is walking. At ten months. All the doctors said she’d be delayed in her milestones because she was born early, but so far that’s definitely not the case. She’s so sturdy on her feet, so strong and stubborn. She’s so like you.
He closed his eyes on a wave of emotion, drinking Scotch simply to clear the knot in his throat. Alicia had written this for him. She’d used the only means possible to share Annie with him. She’d thought of him—with every milestone Annie had achieved. Carefully, he flipped to the back, to a photo of Annie reading a comic book. Closer inspection showed it to be Spanish.
