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“Wait,” he breathes, holding his hand up.
So, I wait.
I wait until he’s totally done, then watch as he stalks back to me. He rests his hands on either side of the bed, leaning close and bringing our faces only inches apart. “How are you feeling? Lightheaded? Tired? Sick?”
I shake my head as he speaks. “I feel fine.” His eyes search mine, like he’s looking for a lie.
“You’ll tell me if that changes,” he demands, and a small smile twitches my lips as I nod. He kisses my forehead again, letting his lips linger as he releases a slow, shaky exhale against my skin. My eyes close and I lean into his touch, his lips, letting myself fall into him. “Let me take you somewhere, Goldie. Just the two of us. We need to talk.”
My stomach does a somersault at the words, but I know he’s right. We do need to talk.
So I give him my hand and let him lead us through Deliverance, and out to his bike.
The water is cool as I drag my toes through the lake, the wood of the dock hard beneath me. After the tattoo, I rode on the back of Roman’s bike for the first time. To say I was freaking out is an understatement.
It was loud, and my legs were wobbly by the time we got here. He gave me his helmet. I didn't love that he wasn’t wearing one, but he said he’d rather I be safe, which was stupidly sweet.
Now, we’re sitting at a dock, looking out at a massive lake, and he hasn’t said a word. Neither of us have. I don’t know what to say. At Deliverance, we were distracted by the tattoo. We didn’t want to say too much too loud in case we were overheard.
It felt like we’d put a pause on whatever tension was between us while he worked. But now we’re alone, and everything that happened two weeks ago, the absence in that time, hangs thickly around us.
He roughly clears his throat before looking at me. I watch him from the corner of my eye, but keep my gaze downcast. I don’t know if I can handle fully seeing whatever’s on his face.
“Eve?” he rasps, his voice thick.
“Yeah?”
I kick the water, sending droplets flying. The lake ripples as they land, and I do it again, not letting the surface stay calm longer than a few seconds. How can it when I feel so unsteady?
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. My throat tightens and I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m sorry.
Those words can hold so much weight, or none at all. It depends on him, on his intent. Does he mean it? Is he really sorry? Or is he just saying it because I’m upset? Does he even know what he’s apologizing for?
“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice firmer. “I should’ve—I should’ve done things differently—”
“I couldn’t breathe, Roman,” I whisper, and his words die. Like a dam breaking, everything comes out, just like that day on the cliff. “I was trying to get your attention—I was trying to get you to look at me. But you wouldn’t. You ignored me. You shut me out. I was scared. I was alone. And I couldn’t breathe.”
Every word is thicker than the last, the threat of breaking, of sobbing, lingering inside me, pushing at my chest, begging to be let free. But I shove it down, all the emotions I’ve tried to ignore over the last few weeks.
I could pretend I was fine when I didn’t have to look at him, when I could act like he didn’t exist. But with him sitting beside me, with this conversation beginning, they’re all bubbling to the surface and I don’t know if I can take it.
He wraps his tattooed fingers around the edge of the dock, his knuckles turning white as he dips his head. Finally, I look fully at him, wanting to see what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, his voice full of anguish. My heart squeezes, and I let my hand slide over the rough wood until it rests against his. His jaw tenses, more stubble coating it than the last time I saw him. “I should’ve stopped. No—” He runs his hand through his hair, letting out a harsh breath. “No, I should’ve never started. I shouldn’t have let him goad me into it. I should’ve—I should’ve thought of you, not him. Not his words.”
I nod as tears fill my eyes. He’s right. He should’ve thought of me first.
“I didn’t hate it at first,” I admit brokenly, the words like ash on my tongue. “I thought it’s what he wanted. I thought it’s what both of you wanted, and I just wanted you to be happy. But then it was like I was a toy you were fighting over, and it started to feel different. And then you were checked out, focused on him, and I was alone. I felt alone. Like I was nothing but—”
But a hole for men to use.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the words slice through me.
I’ve tried not to think about them, and I’ve mostly been successful. At least during the day, when I’m too busy with Oli or Chase, or even Kon. Too busy to think about what happened, to think about Isaac and all the things he’d said. But at night, when I’m alone and I’m staring at the same ceiling Roman stared up at for years, everything comes crashing back down, reminding me why I’m here.
“He just pisses me off,” Roman grunts. “But I should’ve controlled myself better. I should’ve taken you away the first day I was back.” He shakes his head again. “I should’ve never let you stay with him in the first place.”
