Page 59 of Shattered

“I do know that.” I moved closer. “I’ve been here for years, Delia. In different forms — your brother’s friend, the guy who stayed away, the person who moved in when you needed help. I’m not going anywhere now.”

“But what if?—”

“There’s no what if. My feelings aren’t temporary. They’re not convenient. They’re not going to change.” I looked at her directly. “You can trust me or not trust me. That’s your choice. But I’m here either way.”

She was crying now. Tears running down her face while she looked at me like I was something both wonderful and impossible.

“I’ve been lying to myself,” she whispered. “Telling myself I needed time when what I actually needed was courage.”

“Delia.”

She moved then. Closed the distance between us.

And I froze.

I actually froze, like my entire body had forgotten how to function. Because Delia Santoro was looking at me with those hazel eyes and moving closer and this was happening. This was actually happening.

My brain was screaming that this couldn’t be real. That I’d fallen asleep at my desk and this was some cruel dream my subconscious had invented to torture me. That any second I’d wake up and she’d still be considering Jake and I’d still be alone in my office at midnight.

But then her hands were in my hair and her lips were on mine and the world just stopped.

Everything stopped.

Seventeen years of wanting crashed into this single moment and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could barely remember my own name. My hands found her waist like they’d been designed for that exact purpose. Like every other thing I’d ever done with my hands had just been practice for this.

She tasted like tears and chapstick and something sweet I couldn’t name. Her fingers tightened in my hair, and I made a sound I didn’t recognize—something desperate and broken from somewhere deep in my chest.

This was Delia. Delia who’d refused to let me hide when I was twelve. Delia who I’d watched from across rooms for years. Delia who’d been Jake’s and then no one’s and now, impossibly, was kissing me like she meant it.

My heart was doing something violent and erratic. Beating too fast, too hard, like it might actually break through my ribs. Every nerve ending I had was firing at once. My hands were shaking where they gripped her waist and I was terrified to hold her tighter and terrified to let go.

Because what if this was it? What if this was the only time? What if she pulled away and said she’d made a mistake?

But she didn’t pull away.

She pressed closer instead. Made this small sound against my mouth that destroyed every careful control I’d ever built. Her hands slid from my hair to my neck, thumbs brushing my jaw,and I was drowning. Actually drowning in the reality of Delia Santoro choosing me.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. My forehead dropped against hers and I couldn’t open my eyes. Couldn’t look at her yet because if I looked and saw regret I’d actually die right here in this parking lot.

“Axel.” Her voice was soft. Shaky.

“Give me a second.” My voice came out rough—wrecked. “I need a second to believe this is real.”

“It’s real.”

“You’re sure? Because I’ve been wrong about a lot of things but if I’m wrong about this?—”

She kissed me again. Softer this time but somehow more devastating because now I knew what it felt like and knowing made it worse. Made it better. Made it everything.

“Does that feel real?” she asked against my mouth.

I opened my eyes finally. Found her watching me with those hazel eyes that had destroyed me when I was fourteen and were destroying me again now for entirely different reasons.

“Yes,” I managed. “That felt real.”

“Good.” She was smiling. Actually smiling like this made her happy. Like choosing me made her happy. “Because I’m choosing you. Just so we’re clear.”

“We’re clear.”