Page 325 of Sin With Me

I talked to Chase today and even though I told him not to bring you up, he did. He says you’re good. I hope that’s true. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy.

She shared her entire life with me. Almost every day, she sent me a text, told me what was happening, how she was feeling. And every time, she got the same message back: this number is no longer in service. But she never stopped. She never gave up.

She never gave up on me.

A sob chokes me, and I bat the tears from my cheeks with my fingertips. I try to calm down, try to take a breath, but I can’t. Not when I have the last four years of her life in my hand.

Every message was a confession. It was her way of pouring her heart out in a safe place. A place she knew she couldn’t be judged or scolded.

“Ro?” Her voice is thick with sleep. I feel her shift as she looks up at me, but I can’t stop staring at the phone. “Roman? What’s wrong?” She sits upright, her hand sliding onto my forearm.

“You’ve—all this time—and I never—I never knew.” I’m not making sense. I know I’m not. But I can barely fucking breathe. I can barely see straight.

Years.

She’s been doing this for years.

“What are you talking about?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing my hair from my face. “Ro, look at me.” I slide my eyes to her worried ones. She moves onto her knees, pressing closer to me as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me to her.

Her hand rests on the side of my head as she tugs me closer, and I bury my face in her neck. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I force myself to calm down. She doesn’t need this.

“What’s wrong?” she asks again, her voice low. Her fingers stroke my hair, combing the tangles out as gently as she can.

How can I tell her what’s wrong? Where do I even begin?

But she patiently waits. She waits and holds me until I’ve calmed down enough to pull away. Her hand never leaves my back as she stares worriedly at me.

Eve’s brows lift expectantly, and I take another deep breath. I need to tell her. I can’t hide it from her.

I can do this.

“Your phone was vibrating,” I mutter, looking down at my hands. The phone is lying on the bed between us, the screen still bright. “I checked to make sure it wasn’t—” Her breath catches, but I breeze by it, not letting either of us dwell on it. On him. “But it was just Oli. She was sending you videos and—” I shake my head again. It doesn’t matter. “I’m sorry.”

“You were looking through my phone?” she whispers, her voice hoarse.

“I saw the messages, Goldie.”

The words linger in the air for a few long moments. Then her arm falls back to her side, and I immediately miss her touch. “What messages?”

I stare at her. What messages? What is she talking about? She knows what messages.

“The ones to me.” She looks pale. Scooting closer, I rest my hand on her knee. “I didn’t mean to look. But I saw my name and—”

“You read them all?” she interrupts, looking away from me.

“Just a few.”

Tension fills the room, thick and palpable. Finally, she takes a breath and looks back at me. Her shoulders straighten, and she tips her chin back.

“And?”

My brows crash together. “And?” I repeat. “What do you mean and?”

“What did you think?” She sounds scared to hear the answer, to know my thoughts. But I need to tell her anyway.

“It makes me sad,” I whisper, the honesty of my words has her eyes squeezing shut. “It kills me you didn’t have anyone else to confide in.” Her lids fly open, her mouth parting.

“That’s not why I sent them,” she says. I tilt my head to the side, confused. “At first, I texted you every day because I was hoping one of those texts would be the one you responded to. But then I got that service message, and I realized if I stop reaching out, it was like I was saying goodbye to you. And I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to give you up.”

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