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Shiloh slaps me right across the cheek, her palm connecting with a sharp sting. “Listen to what? More lies? Morebullshit?”
The agony in her eyes is almost the death of me. I want to gather her in my arms, to promise her that I'll never hurt her again–but I know that's not what she needs right now. She needs the truth, all of it, no matter how humiliating.
“I'm not lying to you, not anymore,” I say, forcing my voice to stay even. “Every fucked-up thing I did was because I wanted to be close to you. I know that's no excuse, but I was desperate toknowyou, tounderstandyou. I convinced myself that reading your diaries was the only way to do that.”
“You're right, that's not an excuse,” Shiloh snaps, though she’s not running away from me anymore. She breathes a ragged inhale, fists clenching and unclenching around the journal. After a few moments, her shoulders sag slightly, some of the fight draining out of her right in front of me. “I thought...I thought I was falling in love with you.” She’s whispering now, her voice cracking around another sob.
“Shiloh…” I grab her hand. Hope flares in my chest, but I squash it down. Hope is a fool’s game.
She shakes her head, sniffling profusely. “I can't imagine ever trusting you again.”
“You can–”
“No,enough. If you don’t let me go right now, I will fucking scream.”
“Where are you going?” I call out as she storms past me, acidic panic rising in my throat.
Shiloh spins back to face me, her eyes blazing with a fury that eclipses any I’ve ever seen from her–any I thought her capable of. “I’m goingawayfrom you. I can't stand to look at your face anymore.”
I can only watch her go, every fiber of my being screaming to follow her, to make this right. But I know that chasing her now will likely end with me being driven out of town by a crowd armed with torches and pitchforks. I've made a mess of everything, and for the first time in my life…
I care enough to want to fix it.
But I have no fucking clue how.
I lean against my car, the cold metal biting at my skin through my clothes. Clawing my hands through my hair again, I tug at the roots as if the pain might clear my head. “Fuck, fuck,fuck,” I mutter, each word punctuated by a fresh wave of self-loathing.
I’d stashed those journals in my trunk days ago, so sure I'd be able to return them before she ever knew they were missing. I thought I’d just slip them back into that dusty box under her stairs, and she'd be none the wiser. But somewhere along the way I’d forgotten, my whole world tilted on its axis with every second Shiloh opened up to me a little more.
“You fucking idiot,” I growl, chiding myself. My fist connects with the hood of my car before I even realize I'm moving. The dull thud of impact is followed by a sharp sting in my knuckles, but the pain is welcome. It's something to focus on, because I can’t handle the crushing weight of watching her leave.
Ihaveto fix this.
The version of my future where I drive back to New York and never see Shiloh again is one I’ll die before I accept.
25
SHILOH
I stalkoff into the tree line past the manor, desperate for just five minutes to catch my breath. The freezing night air whips at my bare skin, but I barely notice it through the storm of emotions raging inside me. Dom's confession replays in my mind over and over, a broken record of guilt and insanity that leaves me wanting to throw up.
Pacing back and forth between two towering oaks, I wrap my arms around my body as if I can physically stop myself from completely falling apart. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with all of this. I feel like I’m on one of those true crime documentaries–the naïve little stepsister who ends up buried beneath the floorboards.
But no matter how furious I feel–how betrayed–I can’t reconcile Dom’s face with that of the psychopath who would do any of this. The vulnerability in his eyes as he laid his soul bare to me...It was so raw, so real.
I’ve seen that look before… It was there when we were wrapped up in each other’s bodies, and when he held me with more tenderness than anyone else ever has. Regardless of howmuch I hated him when he sauntered into town, I can’t deny he’s changed.
Or has he just manipulated me so well I have fucking Stockholm Syndrome?
A twig snaps behind me, and I stop my pacing, still hugging myself tight as I stare into the blackness of the woods in front of me. The sound of crunching leaves follows, steady footsteps approaching. I should have known that Dom wouldn’t leave me to stew too long, in case I talk myself out of ever forgiving him.
I don't turn around. I can't face him just yet. Instead, I take a deep breath and start talking, the words tumbling out before I can lock them away forever.
“I don't know how to deal with everything you told me yet, Dom.” My voice comes out rasping, my throat raw from all the sobbing, but I swallow hard and push on. “Honestly, I'm just so fucking mortified you read all those pathetic journal entries. All that teenage angst and whining and..and how I pined for you.”
The footsteps come to a stop just behind me. I can feel the warmth radiating from his body, hear his soft exhale of breath. Then, he strokes his knuckles down my bare arms, sending a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
My eyes flutter closed, and I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips. “This is so fucked up,” I whisper, leaning into him slightly. “But I can't lie about how I feel when you touch me. I've craved you for so long...longer than I want to admit, even to myself.”
