Page 80 of I Wish I Would've Warned You

“Mr. Dawson,” she says, “if you pride yourself on family values, why haven’t you ever publicly addressed the DUI your son received a few years ago?”

The entire table stiffens. Even the silverware seems to pause.

Aidan blinks. Stunned. But only for a second.

He smiles. “We all make mistakes. What matters is how we learn from them. I believe in redemption and moving forward.”

The reporter doesn’t relent. “So why didn’t you include that in any of your books?” she asks. “Especially since that would imply Cole was drinking underage. Doesn’t that clash with the values you sell to your readers?”

My eyes flick to Cole. He’s not flinching. He’s watching.

He looks like he’s expecting an answer. Maybe even hoping for one.

But Aidan, ever the performer, keeps his smile. “I focus on what will help others. Not every personal detail needs to be published to make an impact.”

He raises his glass. A signal to move on. And the room begins to shift again.

But Cole doesn’t.

He stands slowly and walks out without a word.

I wait five seconds, then excuse myself and follow.

He’s halfway down the hall, pacing. I catch up.

“Cole,” I say.

He spins. “Why are you following me?”

“Because I?—”

“We’re not together anymore. Why bother?”

“Because I’ll always love you.”

He laughs bitterly. “Okay. Go put that in one of your poems. I don’t want to hear that right now.”

“Cole, stop.”

“No, you fucking stop. You’re here, I can’t have you, can’t talk to you, and I’m tired.”

“You act like we were in a long-term relationship,” I hiss. “I barely know you.”

“Didn’t stop you from fucking me.”

“Seriously?”

“Walk away from me, Emily.”

“Or what?”

We glare at each other, tension stretched thin. Then suddenly, it breaks.

We collide in a kiss—angry, hungry, desperate. Hands gripping, mouths crushed, nothing soft or sweet. Just pain and want and three years of ache.

“I miss you,” he breathes.

“I never stopped loving you,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

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