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“NO!” He shouts, his grip tightening as he gives me a desperate shake. My hands fly up to steady myself, grasping hold of his elbows while my eyes shoot up to his. “Don’t do this, demon. Please don’t do this,” he pleads with me, each and every word working overtime to weaken my resolve.
His bright blue eyes peer down at me with heavy sadness, as though I’m the one betraying him. Like he didn’t have to step over the pieces of my heart discarded on his hallway floor on his way in. I don’t even bother to collect them anymore, the shards of his collateral damage far too fine to retrieve.
“What would you have me do, Nick? Hmm? I have a life. I have responsibilities. I can’t just throw them away over a stupid fight.”
“A stupid fight? Look at your face!” He spins me, pinning my back to his front as he forces me to stand before the oversized mounted mirror on the wall opposite his bed. Its decorative gold border frames our form, capturing the image of us within—a living snapshot of the trainwreck that is our story. He leans down, his forehead pressing to my temple as he whispers against my skin. “Don’t go.”
CHAPTER 27
NOW
NICKY
“Don’t go.” I press my forehead against her temple, still clutching her to me from behind. Her body begins to tremble within my hold, her eyes squeezed shut as she fights to contain her tears. “Tell me,” I whisper against her jaw, my hand crossing over her chest to cradle the opposite side of her face. “Tell me what I can do.”
She takes a steadying breath, her eyes opening to find mine in our reflection. “You can stop pitying me.”
I freeze, dread suddenly flooding my veins as the lies I weaved for the benefit of the boys replay within my mind.
She heard me.
Fuck.
“Daph,” I shake my head, “I—”
“Don’t.” She cuts me off, her posture straightening so she no longer leans into me for support. Taking hold of my hands, she pulls them from her body, spinning to face me head-on. “It’s time we called this for what it is, Nicky—a mistake.”
“Nothing involving you could ever be a mistake.”
“Except the idea of being with me, right?”
“Jesus Christ, Daph,” I growl, fisting my hair in frustration as anxiety begins to coil in my chest. I pace the room, a feeble attempt to delay the onset of my ever-rising panic, which threatens the sanctity of my sanity. Why does she do this to me? Doesn’t she see this is what’s best for her?
Daphne scoffs, her head dipping in disappointment as she turns toward the door. The sight of her leaving cracks something open inside of me, though it’s nothing compared to the pain of the realization she intends to return to him. “What do you want from me?!”
“I want you, you fucking idiot!” she screams, her wild curls whipping about her face as she spins back in my direction, hands outstretched at her sides.
“Which version?” Daph falters, the question I pose catching her off guard. “The motocross star? Hmm? The millionaire? The gangster? Which mask that I’ve painstakingly constructed in this never-ending game of make-believe do you like best? Which lie is your favorite?”
She rushes forward, her hands gripping hold of my face and dragging my forehead to hers. “I want the boy I met in that funeral parlor.”
My brain blanks out, her answer stunning me to silence as the world fades away, leaving a place where only she and I remain.
“I want the guy I held through his panic attack the first time he climbed in my window. I want the asshole who isn’t afraid to tell me to cut my shit but would be pissed if the day came where I actually fell in line. I want the boy who swore to always pick up the phone and the man who has never failed to keep that promise. I want the dork that laughs at my terrible jokes, the gearhead who used to lose himself for hours in a bike build, the romantic who sends me seventeen dahlias—one for every year we’ve known one another.” Her right hand slips low, her palm trailing downward and coming to press against the center of my chest. “I want the tortured king who shoulders the weight of everyone’s burdens, and the ruthless devil who breathes easier when he’s painted in blood.”
Daph stares at me, her eyes a vast sea of emotion, yet not a drop of fear to be found.
“I know you better than anyone on this planet. Better than your boys, better than Jones.” Fisting the fabric of my shirt, she tears the buttons apart with one swift tug. “Better than her.” She gestures to the lip print tattoo on my side before taking my face in her hands once more. “I see you, Nicky. Every fucked-up, jagged piece. I see you, and I love you anyway.”
My entire world comes to a screeching halt as I loop those words on repeat in my mind, determined to commit each and every syllable uttered in her melodic tone to memory.
I love you anyway.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
