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“I’m sorry.”
It feels so good to finally say it, like a weight has lifted off my chest.
I should’ve said it two days ago.
“You didn’t do it.” She shakes her head, turning away from me. “I’m the klutz?—”
“No, I’m sorry about what I said after… I was a jerk, and I hate that I screwed up the memory of your first kiss.”
Her body stills. Her back is to me, and she reaches up to loosen the turban on her head. Long, blonde hair falls down her back in nearly dry waves, and I catch the soft scent of honeysuckle. I watch her fold the towel in her hands, slowly rolling it into a ball.
“It was only a kiss.” Her voice is quiet.
“It was more than that.” I’m less quiet. “And I’m sorry I ruined it for you.”
She still doesn’t face me. She continues rolling the thin turban until she finally turns around and slams it with a muted thump on her desk.
“Stop it.” Fire simmers in her green eyes, and I take a step back.
“What?”
“I’ve had it with your emotional roller-coaster. First you act jealous because Sam’s talking to me…”
“I wasn’t jealous?—”
“Then you kiss my face off in the library.” She shakes her head, holding out her arm. “Hell, you practically dry-humped me against the women’s fiction section, then you say it’s nothing.”
“I didn’t?—”
“Now you’re here, telling me this.” Her eyes are back on mine, and the heat in them burns my stomach. “I’ve watched you be nice to everyone—Kimmie, Dylan, Thomas, Edward… Why do you only want to hurt me?”
“I don’t?—”
“Is it because of my dad? Because I’m nothing like him if you cared to look. I can’t change what he did, and I’m not going to be ashamed I survived. I escaped that house.”
She’s so beautiful. Her cheeks are flushed, and her chin is lifted. I love her fight. I love the energy flashing in her eyes. She’s a force.
You’re in love with her… I can’t let that idea take hold.
“I have my reasons, Rachel.”
“Give me one.”
My stomach clenches, and I won’t lie to her. At the same time, she’s asking for answers I’ve never said out loud, not in all the times I’ve been asked.
“You just have to trust me.”
“What does that mean?” She blinks rapidly. “You have reasons to be nice to everyone but me?”
I slide my hand over my aching neck. “That’s not what I meant.”
Confusion lines her expression, and I know what I’m saying doesn’t make sense. It only makes sense when you’ve lived it. When you’ve seen me break everything I cared about again and again.
“Tell me what you mean.” She steps closer to me.
“It’s late, and I’m tired.” I turn stiffly for the door. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I wish I’d handled it better.”
She reaches out to put her hand on mine, to stop me. “I can help you with your pain. I’ll set up the table in the morning, and you’re going to let me.”
