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I swallowed thickly.Yeah. Yeah, he’s right. I think I fell the first time Lars scowled at me.
“It’showyou love someone that’s the hard part. Knowing how to fit them into your world, if they even belong there. Love’s a risk, and sometimes it hurts.”
I turned away from him.
“But take it from someone who knows. It hurts to push them away, and it hurts to pull them close. You just need to pick your hurt.”
“And you picked to pull Wes close.”
“Hurts a little less when the one you love is in your arms.”
“And what happens when that choice is taken from you?” I asked, unable to mask the anguish inside me. “When all you have left is to hold the pieces they left behind?”
He was so quiet I turned to make sure he was still there, coming face to face with pain we both lived with naked in his eyes.
“Win.”
I shook my head. I’d said more than I wanted. Heard more than enough. The rest I had to keep locked down. The sun still had to shine even when there was a raging storm.
The door opened, and a white-blond angel slipped inside. He was my heaven. And also my hell.
The demand he get out lay forgotten on my lips the second our eyes met across the room. His presence was an iron shackle around my heart. God, he was fucking beautiful in every way. The urge to scoop him close and shove him beneath my bones made my fingers shake.
It was impossible, though, just as impossible as telling him to leave.
And so we stood there staring at each other, our energies entwining because physically we didn’t dare to move.
I felt rather than saw Max come forward, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t tear my attention from the man leaning so casually against my bedroom door.
“You should talk to him,” Max said low, much closer to my side than he was before.
I heard his words but didn’t acknowledge them, my eyes still imprisoned by another.
My brother cleared his throat. “You good?”
This time I nodded, and he saw himself out. When he was gone, Lars leaned back against the door, almost as if he were barricading it with his body.
Just like the first day I saw him, his jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him, his upper body supported by the wall. And just like that first day, he scowled as if my presence were an annoyance.
“What the fuck?” he said, and it didn’t matter he was being stern. The accent of his English made me want to hug him.I want to hold him so damn bad.
I said nothing, instead finally ripping my eyes away to blink back the overwhelming emotion welling behind them.
He waited me out, the bastard. I grew impatient with the silence. The pressure on my chest turned near crushing.
Blowing out a breath, I gazed up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, okay? I freaked out down there. Your allergy—”
“I don’t care about my allergy!” He cut me off, pushing away from the door.
“You damn well need to!” I snapped back. “If I hadn’t been there…” My chest heaved, and I found it impossible to finish the sentence.
His voice was quiet now. “I was going to say something.”
I scoffed. “Oh, you mean like you said something to me.”
“That was different.” He defended. “And I told you I was sorry.”
“How was that any different?” I pushed, not even sure why I was dragging up what happened months ago.Because it still haunts you.
