Page 87 of Bitter Truths

She is so fucking beautiful.

Part of me still thinks I’m imagining her.

I’ve been watching her for the past twenty minutes. Can’t help myself.

The years away stole everything soft about her face. She’s so guarded now.

But asleep like this, I catch glimpses of the girl who used to fall asleep during movie nights, head pillowed on my shoulder.

That girl trusted us to keep her safe.

This woman learned to keep herself safe because we failed.

Last night, when she crawled into my lap, when her hands framed my face and pulled me back from the edge of panic... I thought I was hallucinating.

All these years of wanting her, needing her… and she came to me. Chose to comfort me when I was breaking apart. I remember the exact weight of her against my thighs, her fingers threading through my hair, the way she whispered my name when I couldn’t breathe.

You’re so good, Freddie.

So perfect.

It’s honestly laughable. Because I’m not.

There’s plenty of video evidence that would prove to her that I’m not good, nor perfect. And definitely not worthy of her.

But last night was more than I ever thought I’d get from her. More than I deserve.

But it’s not enough. And it won’t be.

Until I can keep her forever.

I want all of her.

I want her laugh in the morning, her sleepy voice asking for coffee while I make her breakfast—whatever her heart desires. I want her arguing with Tristan about anything and everything, rolling her eyes at Owen’s over-the-top possessive tendencies, and melting under Weller’s soft side that is only for her. I want her choosing us every day for the rest of our lives.

Just like we wanted to choose her.

The way it was supposed to be.

The way we’ve known she was ours since we were kids.

Instead, we get a handful of days. Maybe less if Whitney gets a wild hair up her ass and comes home early.

What the hell are we supposed to do when time runs out? Lock her up? Hide her away? Tell her the truth and watch her try to save us… leading her right into a demon’s lair?

We won’t be able to help her once Whitney returns.

We won’t be able to help ourselves either.

That’s just the way it is.

As far as we know, there is no way out of this… aside from death.

Guilt and desperation war with each other. The knowledge burns me alive—she’s right here, breathing and real and ours, at least in my imagination, and we’re going to destroy her again.

There is no option where Bianca comes out unscathed.

Owen emerges from his room first, moving silently through the space. His eyes find her immediately, his expression softening in ways he’d never allow if he knew I was watching.