Finding Our Way (Finding our Way 1)
Page 25
“Devon,” he groans.
“What? I can’t help it.”
“Try.”
“Sorry.” I try to roll away, but he holds me in place.
“Never be sorry with me. Ever. I’m the one who will spend the rest of my life wondering what could have happened If I’d have spoken up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may have told you the last two weeks how much you mean to me. But it fucking tears me up the time we lost. I’m thrilled with the life you have and the accomplishments you’ve made. But I have so much regret it kills me.”
“How can we get past it?”
“I need to know you forgive me, really forgive me. See where I was coming from and know I was thinking about what was best for you.”
I want to quit this back and forth and in my mind, I know there’s only one way to let go. “Then we need to talk about what happened. All of it, including my heartbreak. I’ve heard your story, but you need to hear mine too. The good, the bad, the ugly. My road to healing was filled with mistakes and stupidity.”
His body tightens but he nods and leans into me for a kiss.
“This is it, sweet girl, after today we let it go. I hear you out—listen to what I already suspect. You got it?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“I already told you I have a plan and you are one hundred percent a part of it. When we leave Miami, we’re a couple, a team. We move past everything. Can you do that?”
“Can you?”
“Devon, I already have. If I thought it was right, you’d be naked underneath me screaming my name. But I’m not ready for that until you promise you’re okay.”
His words send a rush of heat through me and I push into his hips, which cause a guttural groan.
“Baby, you have to stop. I can’t take it.”
“Why do you want me to stop? Isn’t a sexual relationship just as important as an emotional one?”
“Yeah, but I already know we’ll be off the charts. I’m trying to do the right thing.”
“For who?”
“For us. I need to know how deep the emotional wounds go, for both of us. Tell me what you think I need to know.”
I sigh but open the floodgates. Telling him everything. Going back to the day of my graduation until the day I saw him on the plane. I tell him about my failed dates, the guys I semi-crushed on and the moments of weakness I would bring out pictures of all us growing up. Several times he squeezes me against him, almost too tight, but I don’t stop him.
A part of me is disappointed with myself for being so open, so trusting. But I’ve always been an open book. No need holding back now. Even if he leaves and screws me over again, I’ll know he heard the truth.
When I’m done, a weight is lifted off my shoulders, but he’s tight and unreadable. His relaxed demeanor disappears and is replaced with tension.
“Bryce?”
“Give me a minute. I’m trying to find a way not to kick my own ass and at the same time reel in my emotions.”
We stay silent and guilt starts to bubble up. He already had a few shitty years, how dare I unload on him so insensitively?
“I’m sorry, I should have been more—”
“I told you to never be sorry with me. I’m a fucking shithead. Your pain guts me.”