Page 22 of Exes That Puck
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I say quietly.
His hand stills on my shoulder. “What?”
“This. Tonight. It doesn’t change anything between us.”
He props himself up on his elbow, brow furrowed. “How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” I sit up, pulling the sheet around myself. “We’re not back together, Zeke. This was just… a moment of weakness.”
“A moment of weakness?” He repeats the words like they taste bitter. “Is that really what you think this was?”
“What else would it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two people who love each other finally stopping the bullshit games and being honest about what they want.”
Love. The word sits between us like a loaded gun. Because I do love him. That’s the problem. I love him enough that I lose myself completely when I’m with him. Love him enough to forgive things I shouldn’t forgive, excuse behavior I shouldn’t excuse, accept crumbs when I deserve the whole meal.
“Love isn’t enough,” I say, echoing my words from the parking lot.
“How can you say that after what we just did?”
“Because what just happened is exactly why we don’t work.” I climb out of bed, gathering my clothes from the floor. “We can’t have a conversation without it ending in sex. We can’t fight without makeup sex fixing everything temporarily. We use physical intimacy as a band-aid instead of actually dealing with our problems.”
“That’s not—”
“It is.” I pull on my bra and turn my back to him. “And I’m tired of it. I’m tired of this cycle.”
The mattress creaks as he sits up. “So what, you’re just going to pretend this never happened?”
“Yes.”
“That’s bullshit, Kara.”
I spin around to face him. “Don’t call me a liar, Zeke.”
“Then don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.” He stands, pulling on his boxers. “You can’t tell me what we just shared meant nothing to you.”
“It was a mistake.”
“The biggest mistake of my life was letting you walk away in the first place. Everything since then has just been me trying to fix it.”
The raw honesty in his voice makes my chest ache. This would be so much easier if he was angry, if he called me names or accused me of using him. But he’s just… sad. Desperate. Looking at me like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat.
And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’ve been his life raft for so long that neither of us remembers how to swim alone.
“I need you to take me home,” I say quietly.
“Kara—”
“Please. Just take me home.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then nods. “Can we at least talk on the way? Try to figure this out?”
“There’s nothing to figure out.” I grab my shirt from the floor, pulling it over my head. “This was a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why? Because it hurts your feelings?”
