Page 134 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
I shake my head weakly. “Water,” I manage to croak.
He stills. “Right. Water.”
He moves fast, returns with a cup, and lifts a piece of ice to my lips. His gaze never wavers, tracking every small movement I make.
He sets the cup down, then, slowly, he steps back toward the door, opens it, and calls quietly into the corridor, “I need a nurse.”
He shuts it again and returns to the chair beside me.
Now that I’m really looking at him, I can see how bad he looks. His hair’s longer and unkempt. His shirt creased, his eyes ringed with dark shadows. He looks wrecked.
“How do you feel?” he asks. “Are you in pain?”
Before I can answer, the nurse arrives. She smiles, her relief obvious. “Goodness, you’re awake,” she says, checking the monitors, the IV lines, asking questions I barely manage to nod through. Then she leaves, promising the doctor will be in soon.
The room falls quiet again, just him and me.
And then it hits me.
All of it.
The notes. Zara. The memories I fought so hard to remember, that night, the woods, the car, the crash.
I turn my head slightly, my throat raw, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Why are you here, Arlo?”
The question seems to hit him like a physical blow. His brow furrows.
“Where else would I be?”
I swallow, my lips dry. “I don’t know. Just… not here.”
The look on his face makes my chest burn. He rises from the chair and pushes it aside.
“What are you doing?” I manage.
He lowers himself to his knees beside the bed, eyes lifting to mine.
“Arlo,” I whisper.
“Ophelia,” he begins, “you are my everything. You always were. The moment I saw you, I knew I’d never let you go.”
My breath catches.
“I fucked up,” he says, the words rough. “There’s no excuse for not trusting you, for believing, even for a second, that you could ever do something like that. To think you’d kill someone just to hide an affair… it’s absurd, and I know it. But when I saw you with him, my brother, it triggered something in me. It was like every dark instinct I’ve ever had took control. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t rational. I was… gone.”
I flinch, and he sees it. The pain that crosses his face is immediate.
“I believed the worst of you,” he goes on, his voice low, almost hoarse, “when I should’ve trusted you with my life. The truth is, deep down, I did. I always did. But facing that truth meant facing what he really was, what I refused to see for years. It was easier to hate you than admit how badly I’d failed. Easier than admitting my own fucking stupidity for thinking, even for a second, that you could betray me.”
He draws a breath. “And Zara…”
I stiffen.
“I didn’t touch her, never,” he says, his voice low. “She was leverage, nothing more. I had information I could use against her, and she played the part I needed her to. To make you believe something that never happened. But there’s never been another woman, Ophelia. There never will be.”
He looks up at me, his eyes are dark and raw. “You shouldn’t forgive me, I know that. I don’t deserve it. But I’m a selfish man, and I’ll fight for you anyway. I’ll spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness. Because you’re mine, Ophelia. You never stopped being mine.”
