Bloom

If there’s another man in the picture, I’ll fight for her. Dammit, I will beg her on bended knee to give me a chance to love her.

I’m ready for that. I need that.

I’ll do whatever the fuck I can to sort my own life so I can start one with her that will last until we’re both old and gray.

She opens the door of her apartment and steps inside. I follow, locking the door behind me.

I’m not going to make a move.

I hoped that I’d get to feel her body against mine at some point today, but she needs something else from me.

Understanding, or support. Hell, maybe she just needs silence.

Her fingertips dance over the front of her neck.

It’s bare.

“Where’s your locket?” I blurt out.

Her bottom lip quivers. “It was never my locket.”

That makes no sense. “What do you mean it was never your locket?”

Her gaze trails over my face. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“I want to talk about it.”

She takes a full step back. “We’ve never talked about our lives or anything serious, Liam.”

She’s right. We’ve kept this on the surface, but I want it to be more. I fucking need it to be more because I want to tell her my truth.

I stalk toward her. “I care about you. I want to be here for you.”

Her fingers trail over her neck. “Are you sure? This is so messed up.”

It can’t be more messed up than the hell I’ve been living in.

“Tell me.” I cup her cheeks in my hands. “Tell me, lilac.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “My mom stole that locket from my dad on the night I was conceived. She’s in prison now but not for that. For other things; bad things.”

Her mom isn’t a saint. I know that from what Audrey shared.

Biting her bottom lip, she sighs. “The pictures in the locket were of a man and a woman. I thought they were my grandparents.”

Makes sense to me.

“Where’s the locket now?” I gaze around the room.

“It was stolen from a gallery twenty-four years ago.” She closes her eyes. “It belongs to a jewelry designer. Her parents’ pictures are in it.”

Fuck.

“I took it back to her.” She exhales. “She gave me the name of the thief; my dad. He died a few years ago.”

I gather her in my arms, pressing her cheek to my chest. “I’m sorry, Athena. Jesus, I am so fucking sorry.”

“I know now,” she whispers. “At least, I know where I come from.”