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“I am, but justice is justice.”
He shakes his head through pushup number a thousand or whatever. Damn, his shoulders and back are strong. How is every line of his body so defined and artistic?
I need to wrap this up.
“Justice is an illusion,” he huffs out. “It’s subjective and often determined by those leastjustifiedto do so.”
At least he’s mildly breaking a sweat now. Also, why did he showerbeforeworking out? This just supports my theory that this show is only to taunt me and get me out of his way.
“So it’sjustifiedthat you’ve had your entire life ruined for something you didn’t do?”
“No. But my life is ruined either way. How does destroying Kim’s fix anything?”
“Because it was her crime!”
“And I’ll still be in hell, but now with the added knowledge that it was all for nothing!”
I quiet, swallowing my response as he averts his gaze and focuses back on his workout.
“It won’t change their mind about me, Iz,” he says quietly. “The truth doesn’t magically reverse the damage caused by a lie. Besides, think about what it would do to the Hubert family. You really want to reopen that wound for them? For what? No one wins with the truth, Iz.”
I would.
I’d breathe easier knowing you didn’t have to go through this anymore.
But I can’t bring myself to say it.
My chest hurts as I study him in the dim light. Up. Down. Up. Down. His face is an unreadable mask of concentration. He’s trying so freaking hard to pretend he’s not shattering inside. I’d believe him if not for those few brutal minutes I got cut by the shards the other night.
“I’m just trying to help you,” I say. “I just want to right a wrong.”
“Then focus your efforts on convincing Kim to stop living in stagnation because she’s too guilty to use her second chance. That’s the real travesty in all this. The whole point was to concentrate the shit on me, so at least one of us could have a future, and what did she do? Absolutely nothing because she’s too damn guilty to accept the gift. She’s not betraying me by having the life I never will. She’s hurting me by refusing to take it.”
“Tristan…”
He lets out a breath and pops up to a sitting position. Looping his arms around his knees, he gazes up at me. Even in this terrible light I feel the pull of his eyes through those long, dark lashes. My belly is tight with longing as I trace every detail of his flawless form. I remember what his lips taste like. His warm skin and hard body. I remember the pain of craving him and the hot rush of relief when he fills me.
“We can’t, Iz,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice that makes those two words unbearable.
“I know.” My response is barely a whisper. I believe it too. There are so many reasons why we can’t. But my legs don’t seem to understand the warning as they close the gap.
“Isabel,” he breathes out when I lower to the floor to face him.
“What?” I whisper back. “Right and wrong is subjective, right?”
My fingers have a will of their own when they trail over his arm and up his hard bicep still wrapped around his knee. His eyes land on mine, hungry and tortured as they search for something. I want so badly to give it to him, whatever it is. Why can’t he accept that? I also wanthimright now more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Well, since this same spot two days ago, anyway.
He releases his legs to create an opening for me as my touch drifts over his shoulder and up his neck. I love the feel of the rough surface of his jaw. His cheek. His soft lips when my thumb brushes them in a bold claim.
“Iz, don’t,” he says.
God, it stings, his plea. It’s brutal when I know it hurt him to make it. I know he wants me. I know he’s not allowed to. What I can’t understand is why.
I withdraw my hand, but it feels wrong. My fingertips burn with the need to touch him again. My own expression is begging him to let me, and he pulls in a breath as he reads my desire. I look down at the evidence of his lust filling those sweatpants I hate to love.
“Why do you fight it so much?” I ask. “Why can’t we just make it work?”
“Because itcan’twork. You…” He shakes his head in frustration. “I have no future, Iz. This won’t get better for me. What you see is what you get.”
