Page 110 of Never Look Back (Redemption Hills 3)

Aster’s voice was thin. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

My ribs clamped around my heart because this pain had little to do with her fall. Still, I searched her, eyes racing as I hunted for any injury. Her coat was wet, and her dress was ripped on the left side. I lifted the tattered fabric a fraction. Aster flinched, and I cringed when I saw the trickle of blood above her knee.

Pushing to standing, I stretched out my hand. “Come here.”

Aster wavered, her attention dipping toward the ground, her profile so goddamn gorgeous I had to stop myself from leaning down so I could run my lips along the length of her defined jaw.

“Please, let me help you.”

Agate eyes met mine. A burn of hope and a glimmer of dejection.

She set her hand in mine.

Energy lapped, a warm buzz that eclipsed reason and sight.

I pulled her to standing. She winced again.

“I’m sorry that I upset you.”

“It’s not even that.” Her head barely shook.

It was everything.

Everything that felt insurmountable.

Old wounds and a new trauma that somehow felt unavoidable.

And still, something I would hold.

I took her chin between my fingers and tipped up her face.

So she would see.

So she would understand.

“I regret every instance I have ever hurt you.”

At my confession, her expression deepened.

I let my fingertips flutter down the length of her neck as I rounded her, and I grasped her coat so I could slip it down her trembling arms. I tossed it to my bed before I reached out and gathered the bulk of her hair and tucked it over her shoulder.

I inhaled.

Hyacinth and magnolia leaves.

A new beginning.

A fresh start.

Aster shivered.

Everything slowed, and I swore I was tripping into a dream.

When my fingers found the top of the zipper, Aster’s spirit stormed the room.

“Why does it have to hurt so bad?” It was a breath of agony.

I angled down so my mouth was at her ear. “It hurts because we didn’t end up where we were supposed to. Because there has been a piece missing in each of us. An ache that can never be filled.”

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