More of You (Confessions of the Heart 1)

“No. You almost died because of me. Because I was too much of a coward to admit to you what I knew and who I was. I put you and Bailey in danger, again and again.”

I squeezed his hand as tightly as I could. “No.”

He smiled softly at me. Affection and the most intense kind of remorse. “It’s the truth, Faith. You know it as well as I do. I saw it written on your face when I admitted it to you. You know I’m responsible for Joseph. For stealing your husband. For stealing your daughter’s father. For failing you time and time again. I can’t bear the thought of you thinking it every time you look at me.”

“Jace, please,” I rushed, flying to my feet and gripping his shoulders.

He winced.

Pain bleeding through even though they were pumpin’ only God knew what through that bag that dripped into him.

I could imagine all the pain he was feeling came from his spirit. The guilt that moved through his face. The same shame he’d been watching me with for all those weeks, the shame I hadn’t been able to understand.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, winding his hand out of my hold and setting it on my face. “So sorry. But I can’t stay here. Not after everything.”

“Jace,” I pleaded, and he was giving me that smile again.

“I came here for one thing, Faith, and that was to make sure you and that little girl were okay. To protect you. Now there’s nothing keeping me here.”

His thick throat bobbed when he swallowed, and his eyes dropped closed before they were open again.

Blazing as they pierced me.

Slamming me with all that intensity.

“Go. Live your life. Take that house and make it something special the way you always wanted. No one is left to stand in your way.”

Tears streaked down my face. “Jace, don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.”

His smile softened farther as he reached out, a tube secured to his wrist, his fingers gentling through my hair. “There’s too much history between us. Too much hurt. Too many lies. Go, good girl. Live a good life. I refuse to taint it any more.”

“Jace . . . please . . .”

It was a sob that broke.

A cracking in my spirit.

The last thing holding me together.

Please.

Those fingers brushed down my face. “I need to go. Figure out who I am after all of this. I am responsible for the death of my cousin. Because I was angry at him, I turned my back on my family. I’m not sure how I’ll ever forgive myself for that, but I do know that I can’t do it here.”

Weeping, I buried my face in his hospital bed, wanting to cling to every inch of him.

Knowing he was broken.

Because of Joseph.

Because of me.

Because of us.

Maybe I’d been right that night when he’d admitted it all. There would be no way for us to piece us back together. No glue strong enough to hold all the frayed threads that knitted our lives.

Unable to take it a second longer, I stood and leaned over the bed, never opening my eyes as I pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Because I wondered if he was right.

If Joseph’s ghost wouldn’t haunt us forever. Destroy us bit by bit.

I ripped myself away, the most striking kind of grief stabbing me as I forced myself out of his hospital room.

Because I realized right then. My heart had never truly been torn between two men.

And I was leaving all of it right there at Jace’s feet.

Forty-Seven

Jace

“What the fuck are you doing?” Mack raged behind me, asshole taking up all of the confined space in the hospital room. Didn’t help that my brother was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

Both of them sucking the life out of the room.

Oh wait, that was just my insides shriveling up.

Turning to stone.

Been heading there all along. Wasn’t sure why I was idiot enough to think I might change it.

I threw a hard glare at Mack. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing all my nice things.”

Sarcasm dripped from my tongue as I shoved all the bullshit the nurses and the discharging doctor had given me into a plastic bag.

Bandages and scripts and care instructions and a fucking pink water pitcher that I was sure was gonna go great with the décor at Ian’s condo.

I’d be staying at his place for at least a week while I finished recovering and then I’d be dragging my sorry ass back to Atlanta where I belonged.

“I know what you’re doing, asshole. I just want to know why you’re doing it.”

My head shook as I continued to shove the shit inside the bag with a little more aggression than necessary. “You know why.”

“Uh, think you might need to clarify that, because neither of us knows what the fuck you’re thinking.” This from Ian, who was watching me the same way as I’d watched him his whole life.