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I’m part of that pain.
I’m part of what he needs to tear away in order to make peace with his life.
Ezra will never shed the first tear about any of this. But that’s all right. I’ll cry for him. For us. For Damon. For all the barriers that we’ll never be able to cross.
“Damn it, Emily.” He turns to face me. “Why is everything so screwed up?”
“I don’t know.”
He marches toward me and drops to his knees, the sand kicking up around his legs as he cups my face and uses his thumbs to wipe away my tears.
“I want twenty-four hours to pretend like none of that stuff matters. Just one fucking day to know what it feels like to have you. Just one.”
“It won’t fix anything.”
“I know,” he argues, “but I want it anyway.”
Scooting closer to me, Ezra pulls me to my knees, both of us in the same position, like we’re begging each other, begging the world, begging the universe to just let us be together.
“Just one day, Em.” His voice wavers when he says, “Please.”
Damn it.
He’s winning.
With every word, I’m losing the battle. I’m being dragged into his fight, my feet unable to stay firm on my side of the line.
His thumb sweeps over my mouth. “Please?”
I should say no. I shouldn’t encourage him. But I find myself falling off that cliff again, all while knowing we’ll never hit bottom.
“Okay, Ezra. One day. But you can’t fight me when it’s time to go. You can’t demand more time.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
His eyes lock to mine, the amber color so gorgeous against the line of his dark lashes.
“Promise me,” I demand again because I know he’s fighting it.
“I promise.”
I search his face for several seconds, but then nod my head. It feels like surrendering. Maybe it is, but we all deserve to have a few moments in our life when we can pretend the cards aren’t stacked against us.
Or in our case, a few hours.
“So what do you want to-“
His mouth is on mine before I can finish the question. Hot and demanding, the kiss is so raw that I fall victim to it.
There’s desperation in the way his lips move over mine, a fevered heat as his tongue dips inside my mouth to fill me with his taste.
This isn’t rushed, though. Slower, with the lazy sweep of his hand over the back of my neck, the strong grasp of his fingers. A quick tug and I’m tighter against him, his mouth exploring, his teeth teasing my lips with the threat to bite.
Is it wrong to love the pain he gives? Every form of it, even the type that stains my soul. I belong to him in more ways than he’ll ever understand, yet circumstance has made it where he has to believe he doesn’tget me.
The truth is that he’s always had me and always will, even if it’s not in the way we want.
