Page 5 of Unleashed
I can’t take it anymore. It’s too sharp, too heavy, so I sit on the edge of the bed, brushing my palms down the soft cashmere blanket. It’s soothing, like my mind focuses on the texture of it rather than the cracks in the air—just for a second.
Mirroring my movements, Anthony sinks into a nearby chair, his hands buried in his hair, his face pale and strained.
“There’s a part of me,” he says, voice strained, “that wants to hate you for it. That wants to scream at you for loving the one man I warned you against. The man who almost killed me. But I can’t.” He looks at me, and this time his eyes aren’t unreadable—they’re raw. “Because I know what it feels like to love someone so fucking much you’d do anything just to breathe the same air as them.”
I feel my throat close, the air sucked from my body.
“Yeah,” he says, like he can see the disbelief on my face. “I’ve always loved you, Everly Beaumont. I just never allowed myself to admit it. But while I searched for you, night and fucking day, going out of my mind, not knowing if I’d ever see you again, I promised myself that when I do, I’d stop hiding exactly what I feel for you.”
My heart constricts, and I’m not sure whether my insides are breaking or if there’s even anything left to break at all.
“I don’t expect you to say it back.” He scoffs. “Fuck, I know you don’t feel the same about me.”
“You should hate me,” I blurt.
“But I don’t.” His gaze cuts through me. “Not even close. But I’d be lying if I said this,” he gestures between us, “doesn’t fucking wreck me.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing that’ll make this easier. Nothing that’ll take away the heartbreak I never meant to give him.
He drags his hand over his mouth like he’s trying to wipe the truth off his face, but it’s too late. It's out there now—his love, his pain, his everything. There are so many emotions swirling in his green irises as he leans forward, elbows braced on his knees.
“I wanted to marry you, Everly. I realized it the day you got on that plane to California. After years of fighting Michele, my dad, to keep exactly that from happening, I realized I wantedyou as my wife when you turned and walked away from me that day. But I made you a promise, and there was nothing more important to me than keeping that promise—not even if it meant denying my own feelings. And when you…” He sucks in a breath like it’s hard for him to breathe, “…when you asked me to marry you to protect you,” he wipes his lips, looking everywhere except at me, “I was so fucking happy.”
I bite my bottom lip.
“I didn’t care that it wasn’t for love. I didn’t care that you were only doing it out of fear or desperation. To me, it was the closest I’d ever get to having you as mine. To just—” A tear breaks free, and he swipes at it, and I swear I almost die, “—just…God.” He bows his head, fists clenched in front of him, shoulders caving like the weight of it all finally got too much. “Just to be yours in whatever way you’d let me.”
Every word. Every breath. Every fucking inch of pain in his voice claws through my chest like it’s trying to tear me open from the inside, like it’s an embodiment of his hurt, physically manifested within me, to ensure I bear witness.
I stare at him, shoulders hunched, hands curled into fists like he’s barely holding himself together, and all I want to do is cross the space between us and fix it. Undo it. Go back and rewrite every choice I made. But I can’t. I can’t erase Isaia from my veins. I can’t pretend my heart didn’t already choose.
So I just sit there, watching the one person who has always protected me finally crack… because of me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. My voice is shaky, useless. It doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I want to say.
He laughs, soft and broken, his eyes still cast down. “Don’t be. You can’t help who you love.”
“But I wish I could.”
He lifts his head, his gaze pinning mine.
“Because if I could choose, I’d choose you.” It’s the truth. If love were something I could shape with my hands, something I could force, I’d give it to Anthony. I’d give it to the man who had always been there for me, always putting my needs above his own. Never pushing. Never forcing. Never taking. Just…giving. “But I can’t,” I whisper, clutching the cashmere tighter, like it can anchor me before all this pain and guilt rip me from this world.
“Because you love him,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. It’s a declaration of defeat wrapped in four little words.
“I’m sorry.”
He stands. “You’re saying that a lot.”
“It’s all I can think of saying.”
“Well, stop.” He takes his cane—a deep cut through my soul—and goes to stand by the door. “Don’t ever apologize for not loving me. Okay?”
I nod even though guilt is twisting my insides.
“I’m going to give you some time to…freshen up. And please,” he tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, “come eat something when you’re done.”
I’m barely holding it together, the weight of everything pressing so hard against my chest it feels like my ribs might snap. Thesecond the door clicks shut behind him, the dam breaks. I fall apart.
