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I winced. “I hate that word.”
“Me too, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not at fault for what happened to you.”
“I know, but—”
He kissed me softly. “You need to stop shouldering part of the blame, Anya.”
“Thanks,” I said, and nestled deeper against him, my head curling against his chest. “I feel better talking about this with you. Talking about it at all.”
“Do you mean you haven’t told anyone?”
“No,” I said against his dark and thick chest hair. “Not Gwen, not Morgan, and my mom had already passed.”
“This is a lot to have carried around alone.”
“But now I have you.” I lifted my head. “And that makes it easier.”
We kissed again, this time slowly and with care as if he wanted to reassure me with every press and connection of our mouths that no, I was not alone, and yes, he was there for me as much as I needed, now that our whole relationship had changed. I almost lost myself in the warm comfort of his body and could have easily been talked into staying in bed with him all morning, but I knew that was impossible.
We still had commitments. And time was running out.
“Let me go downstairs and make some coffee,” I said. “We at least deserve that much.”
He tried protesting and said he didn’t need anything, but I insisted on going. I was happy to have a task to distract me from the bad memories. I took my robe from a hook in the master bathroom, wrapped the belt around my waist, and padded downstairs.
When I returned a few minutes later, Robert was sitting up in bed, propped against the pillows, staring at his phone, all the color drained from his face.
“Is everything okay?” I asked from the doorway, a cup of coffee in each hand.
He jolted and looked at me. “No, I don’t think it is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ROBERT
“I’m not sure,” I added.
