Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

“I’m an idiot. I’m a selfish idiot,” he whispered. “And I’m so fuckin’ sorry. You’ll never know how sorry.”

I shook my head. “Not as sorry as me. You should never have touched her.”

He was silent a second. I should have taken that opportunity to break free of his hold. But it felt like the last time I’d ever feel his arms around me, and a pathetic part of me didn’t want to lose that connection quite yet.

His breath was warm on my skin. It stuttered, like he was hesitating to say something, and then I knew why. “I haven’t … slept with her.”

My insides twisted at the very thought. “What do you want me to say to that?”

“I could … I could end things with her so you and me—”

I wrenched out of his arms, the spell broken. Backing away from him, I stared up at him in disbelief. “Don’t you get it? You thought it would have been bad me breaking up with Gary to be with you? Can you imagine what this would do to my relationship with Dillon? She’s serious about you, Michael. And she wouldn’t see that she took something from me.” My lips trembled, and I cursed the tears spilling down my cheeks. Tears were useless, and they made me seem weak. “She’ll think that I stole you from her.” I swiped at my tears. “I won’t do that to her.”

“What about us?”

“You fucked any chance we might have had.”

He took a step toward me, and I lifted my hand to stop him.

“You wouldn’t betray your friend, and I certainly won’t betray my sister.”

The full realization of what he’d done seemed to hit Michael at that moment, and something akin to grief filled his expression. “Dahlia,” he said, sounding in pain.

My hatred for him melted. Michael was so together, so mature for his age that sometimes I forgot he was only a few years older than me. He was still a young guy, only human, stumbling through life making mistakes like the rest of us. I’d put him on a pedestal. That was my mistake.

His mistake just happened to be a big, painful, horrible one that affected me too.

“I’m sorry, but for the sake of my sanity, we have to be done, Michael. Don’t text, don’t call … just don’t. I’ll pretend whenever you’re around with Dillon that we’re okay, but we have to be done.”

Twisting the knife in deeper, his eyes shone brightly with emotion. “I didn’t … I hoped, but I always thought it was just me … that what I felt was only coming from me and that I needed to move on. You never said—we never said—”

“And we never will.” I slumped and stepped out of the alley behind the diner. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

I walked away, proud of the tears I’d kept at bay as I said goodbye.

Thankfully, Dillon’s car wasn’t at home when I got there, and I snuck into the house before anyone could see what a mess Michael Sullivan had made of me.

Yanking myself out of that painful memory, I reached for my cell phone where I’d left it charging on the bedside table. I needed to talk with Bailey. She always gave it to me straight, and she’d tell me if I should try to fix the hurt between Michael and me. She knew our whole story.

She knew all the mistakes made on both sides.

The constant screw-ups that had kept us apart.

I knew I could never be with Michael again, have him fill that space in my life and my bed that no man had filled since. So trying to earn his forgiveness was inevitably going to hurt me, and I needed to tap into any selflessness I had to do it.

It would require me to be brave.

Ultimately, I knew Bailey would want me to be brave. She’d encourage me to, and I needed that push.

Because this was going to sting so very, very badly.

I met my dad’s happy gaze across the room and grinned, giving him my dimple. This was so much better than last night.

“Did you see, Aunt Dahlia, did you see me rescue that Sprixie?” Leo yelled from two feet away.

“And that’s Mom, Dad, Leo, Grandpa …” Levi, my five-year-old nephew, pointed at the people in his drawing, “I could add you.”

“Aunt Dahlia!” Leo cried.