Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
“It’s fine,” I say, but I have to drop his gaze.
“It’s not. I know it’s not. You put your trust in me after I worked so hard to earn it again, and I broke it again. You put it in my hands, expecting me to keep it safe, and I fucking broke it.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, closing my eyes. “You broke it.”
Tears burn and build but never fall, and inside I just feel hollow and tired and sad.
“Forgive me, please,” he says, his voice breaking.
I nod, running my tongue over my teeth, swallowing the pain down. “I forgive you.”
Because I do. I do forgive him. I know he’s being sincere, and I know he knows he fucked up. I had a talk with Magnus and Ella the other day that told me as much. I was furious with Lady Jane for breaking my confidence in her, but I suppose her duty was always to Ella first. What I didn’t expect was for the two of them to know about our relationship ahead of time, about what happened in London.
I also didn’t expect them to fully support it. I thought for sure one of us would get the boot, but instead both Ella and Magnus were thoroughly invested in us as a couple. Unfortunately for them, there’s no way that James and I will come together now. I can forgive him because it’s the right thing to do, because he almost just died saving Bjorn’s life, just as he came close when he saved mine, and I can forgive him because it’s too much to carry that burden with me. I don’t want to work with him and hate him. I don’t want to be in that house avoiding his gaze, letting something hard build inside me, covering everything that was once soft.
“Do you mean it?” James asks, and I look at him to see the desperation on his brow. “Do you forgive me?”
I nod. “Of course I do.”
He gives me a sad smile. “You say that as if it’s a given. You don’t owe me anything, Laila, but I’m still asking for it.” He holds out his hand. “And maybe you can give me your hand too.”
That feels like one ask too many. I hesitate, my heart thumping awkwardly in my chest. I can forgive him for being scared and pushing me away, but the idea of him touching me again makes me feel like I’ll do more than forgive him.
“Please,” he says.
And I can’t say no to his request.
I come around the bed and place my hand in his. He grasps it tightly, and my blood fizzes where his skin presses against mine, a lightly calloused and utterly familiar grip.
It feels like he hasn’t touched me like this in so long, and it takes everything in me to keep all of that inside me, to bury the gasp my lungs yearn to make.
“You were a brave man,” I manage to say.
His grip tightens. “You make me brave, Laila.” He takes in a deep breath, his gaze consuming, like it’s taking up all the oxygen in the room. “You made me so fucking scared. And then, only then, did you make me want to be so damn brave. It’s all for you, love. I’m sitting here for you, because of you.” His voice cracks on the last word, his grip on my hand taking my breath away.
“James,” I whisper, trying to find the words, but there are no words that will appease him. They don’t appease me either. That’s what’s so awful about all of this.
“I am so sorry I hurt you,” he goes on hoarsely. “I turned into my worst fears.”
“You did,” I say softly.
“And I had you, didn’t I? I had you and I lost you.”
I close my eyes and exhale a shaking breath. “You did,” I say, and those words cement the truth but, god, how I hate the truth.
His fingers loosen at that, and his hand slips away, and I feel him slip away. I feel us slip away. And I want to just crawl onto that bed and kiss him, hold him, tell him that I love him and I don’t care if he hurt me and I don’t care if my heart isn’t safe in his hands.
But self-preservation is an animal we don’t really think about. It lives within us and rears its head when it thinks we might step straight into harm. Right now, it feels like James is harmful, that he’ll hurt me again, so all the dark and hidden places inside me are putting on the brakes. I’m protecting my own heart from being shattered again, even though I’ve barely begun to put together the pieces.
“I don’t want to hate you, James,” I whisper. I dare to open my eyes, but his head is turned, brows furrowed in pain, staring out the window and at nothing at all. “I want to go back to being friends. I like being around you as a colleague, as a housemate. I know it’s hard, but…”