Page 101 of Best In Class
I look at the pitcher warily. She could go direct.
“I love you,” she spits the words out like they hurt, and maybe they do. “I have always loved you. And it’s the worst part of me, Dom. Because no matter how many times you break my heart, I keep waiting for you to stop.”
My knees nearly give out. Her pain is a physical thing—I can feel it beating against my chest like wings trapped in a cage.
I go to her, go to my knees, take her hands in mine. “I’m not leaving. Not this time.”
“We’re toxic. We keep hurting one another.”
“We give more love than pain.”
“Oh my God! Next, you’ll be quoting Tennyson.”
Since it’ll probably get a reaction from her and right now, I want her mad, throwing things, yelling, anything but crying—I go for it.
“‘’Tis better to have loved and lost,’” I recite, watching her eyes narrow, “‘than never to have loved at all.’”
She scoffs and looks away. “Get lost, Dom.”
“No fucking way.” I don’t let her pull her hands from mine. “I’m not going to walk away, and I’m not going to letyou walk away, either. You can scream, curse, drink every damn bottle Stella owns—but I’m sitting right here.”
I stand up and lower myself beside her on the bench.
She doesn’t push me away, but she doesn’t lean in, either. She lets me hold her hands.
I’m comforting her, yes, but I’m also shackling her to me the best I can.
Then, quietly, almost imperceptibly, she begins to cry.
Silent tears at first, then a shuddering breath, and then a sob that rips through her like a crack in the earth.
Fuck!
“Baby, do you want another drink?” I pull her into my arms, and this time, she lets me.
She shakes her head. “Stella didn’t add a lot of alcohol, just a little bourbon.”
I look at the pitcher skeptically. I smelled the tea,andit wasn’t alittlebourbon. I guess Luna’s alcohol tolerance is higher than mine.
She clutches my shirt, fists trembling, burying her face against my chest like she’s trying to disappear. I press my lips to the top of her head, breathing her in, my own throat aching.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur again and again, until the words lose meaning, but maybe still carry weight. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.”
Because this isn’t the kind of pain that goes away with promises.
But it is the kind that asks you to stay, to witness it, to carry it together.
CHAPTER 26
Luna
He’s watching me when I open my eyes.
He brought me home and helped me take a shower. Then he put me to bed. Held me.
I let him.
I was feeling weak. Crushed. Devastated. And having the man I love care for me was a balm. I didn’t deny myself.
