Page 105 of Hold Me Before You Go

Don’t do this.

Not now.

Get it together, Grayson.

I closed my eyes, and there she was, being held down again, being cut again, crying out for me. I’d been too late. I failed her. I failed the happy ending I could have been able to give her. Now, there was a very real chance we couldn’t be together. If I had just gotten to her sooner, protected her the way I promised her I would. If I had been a better fucking man—

“Fuck, Sunshine, I screwed everything up for us, didn’t I?” I murmured, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes closed. My hands fell from her as my heart pounded in my ears, the room around me fading in and out. Carrie was fading.

“Grayson?”

I leaned back, pushing my hands into my hair, my chest heaving violently now.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You made her happy, and now look what you’ve caused, what you’ve done.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Carrie’s soft voice cooed close to me. “Grayson, look at me.”

I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t—

I felt her warm, soft hands on my face, her thumb brushing over my jagged skin. “Grayson, look at me,” she commanded. “Open your eyes.”

“I fucked everything up for you—for us,” I pushed out, my breaths choppy.

“No, Grayson, you didn’t. None of this is your fault,” she assured me, pressing her lips to mine. Before I knew what was happening, she was peppering soft, short kisses all over my face, whispering how much she loved me.

I love you.

You’ve given me something I never thought I’d have.

You saved me.

You protect me.

I love you.

I love you.

I’m safe.

You’re safe.

That’s all that matters.

With each statement, followed by a kiss, my heart slowed, the noise in my head began to fade, and the weight on my chest disappeared. I opened my eyes, and my vision began to clear; all I saw was her snow-blonde curls. I felt her weight in my lap, her hands on my chest. Her face came into view, and I began to count the freckles dusted over her nose and the tops of hercheeks. She put her hand over my heart, holding it there, feeling the steady beat of it.

“Hi,” she whispered.

My voice was thick as I replied, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for being human, Grayson,” my sunshine returned. “That’s all you are. Just a human.”

I said nothing.

“You couldn’t have known,” she continued. “I don’t blame you for what happened, and I never will. I blame Robert.” Her voice hardened. “I blame my father. I blame both of those men, Grayson, but never you.”

“Carrie—”

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