Page 124 of Heartbreaker

I’m delaying.

“Shortcake,” I say again, stepping toward her.

She puts up her hand, my ring glinting on her finger, and fuck if I don’t feel a hundred feet tall when I see it there.

Mine.

At least until she starts talking.

Then a giant boulder sits on my stomach.

“I wasn’t going to embarrass you on stage,” she says, “but you can’t possibly think that I'm going to forgive you just because you bought a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring, baby. I…” My throat works, panic edging in, that streak of vulnerable far too wide for my comfort.

I shove it down.

Because I need to make this right.

“I had a week without you and it’s been the worst one in of my life—worse than losing Colt, worse than waking up after the accident, definitely worse that Amber telling me she was leaving, and a fuck-ton worse than finding out I’ve been replaced in Midnight Sun.” I reach for her, relief sliding through me when she allows me to take her hands in mine.

“I’m sorry they did that,” she murmurs. “And did it that way.”

“That doesn’t matter. I?—”

“It matters, Royal,” she says firmly.

Because of what I did afterward.

Guilt churns but I push it down. I need to focus. So, I exhale silently and ask, “Please, just let me talk, baby?”

She nods, and I draw her slowly toward me, inch by careful inch, trying not to spook her, not stopping until she’s flush against me, the jagged pit that’s been in my stomach for the last week filling in, just a little bit.

“First, I am so sorry. Hearing it like that—” I close my eyes, push out a breath, then open them again. “It hit me hard, Shortcake, and I fucked up. I went to that place again, the one that hurts everyone I love?—”

She jerks.

But I keep talking.

“I need you to know that I’m not going to let that happen again?—”

“Royal—”

“I finally talked to a therapist that Atlas recommended years ago, and I’m going to keep seeing her. I need to get a handle on the anger, the grief, the panic that closes in on me at the thought of not being what I was?—”

She jerks again. “Royal.”

“I know that I probably won’t ever get back to being that man again, but I’m going to try. I made an appointment with my physical therapist, and I won’t give up this time—not until theytell me there’s no hope. Fuck, I won’t give up even then.” I touch her cheek. “I’m going to be better, I promise.”

“Honey,” she whispers.

But I still don’t stop.

“And I didn’t mean that bullshit about your music.” I settle my other hand on her cheek, holding her stare so she knows that I’m serious. “You are so fucking talented, baby. The first time I saw you on stage, I knew you had it—that star power that only comes with musicians who change the industry, who are around their whole lives and continue making hit after hit, whose music touches people’s souls.You’reone of those, Shortcake. Your fans will be around for a lifetime and your music is going to change lives?—”

“Ourmusic.”

My heart flips over in my chest. “What?”