Page 65 of The Beat Match

“Wes?”

Weston fumbled and dropped his phone, spinning in his chair as his eyes shot to Annie.

He hadn’t heard her knock or walk in, but she was here, stunning in a whimsical dress, the thin fabric multicolored and lively, one thin strap slipping off her shoulder. He shoved his chair back and snatched the phone from his floor. “I’ll call you later. Something’s come up.”

“No. Not later.” Rosanna’s voice took on a screechy high pitch. “Seriously, Weston—this is important.”

“Not as important as Annie.”

“I’m not kidding. I’m worr—”

He hung up on Rosanna. She’d live, and he’d apologize later. He’d been waiting on Annie for five days that felt like five years, and if he didn’t touch her in five seconds he would combust. He rounded his desk, had her in his arms and against his chest before he took a full breath. “You’re here,” he murmured into her hair.

She clutched the back of his suit jacket and burrowed into him. “I am.”

They stood like that so long he worried he was suffocating her. He kissed the top of her hair, breathed her in—sage, honey, sadness he wished she didn’t feel. He pulled back to see her face. Jesus. “You’re crying again. I’ve made you cry again.”

She shook her head, not bothering to hide her tears the way she had at his apartment. “I’m just overwhelmed. Sad but also happy. And I…” Her voice cracked as more tears fell. “I’ve been trying to keep myself together for so long I’ve kept people, including you, at a distance. That’s why I never talked about Leo with you, and why I couldn’t call you this week. I’m not mad at you. I don’t blame you for his death. I’m scared if I start crying I won’t stop.”

He didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Not for that. He cupped her wet cheeks, his blood thundering at the simple touch. “I should have met Leo when he asked.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Blunt truth. Pain lanced through him. “It should have been me.”

She shoved him, palms smacked hard against his chest. “Don’t ever say that. God, you’re an idiot. Don’t you ever say that. It shouldn’t have been either of you.”

Now she looked like she wanted to hit him, a hard punch he could use. “They were my stupid choices. The consequences should have been mine.”

“I know you were a stupid kid, Wes. That isn’t breaking news. But I didn’t know you were a stupid adult.”

He tugged down his tie, unable to form a reply. Stupid was his motto these days.

She huffed out a breath. “We were all stupid back then. Leo left me home alone once, before our mother OD’d. He told me to make dinner, but I didn’t cook the chicken through. I was eight. He never forgave himself for how sick I got. And I once thought I wanted to be a ninja. I started throwing knives at home and one landed in Leo’s thigh. We all did stupid shit that could have gone sideways.”

“None of that actually did go sideways. You didn’t get someone killed.”

“You didn’t kill him!” He flinched at her shout. More tears tracked her cheeks. “I’m tired, Wes. I’m tired of not talking about Leo. I’m tired of keeping friends at arm’s length when what I need is to scream and talk and smile about the good times with Leo. I also need to tell you that what you did sucked. It hurt to hear it, hurts to think about it, but you were a kid. And yeah, you should have told me the truth. But what’s done is done. Life is unfair. Beating yourself up for mistakes that were out of your control doesn’t help.”

He felt like sagging to the floor, some of the guilt he’d lived with leaching out as he exhaled. Remorse over Leo would always sit heavy on his heart. No wise words from Annie or any therapist would erase that. But he was tired, too. Tired of hating himself for one reckless night. “I miss him so much.”

She closed her eyes briefly, then looked at him, her chin ticked up. “So do I. But you know what else I’m tired of?”

He was tired of not kissing her. That much he knew. He wanted to lay her out on his desk, in front of his floor-to-ceiling windows, fall to his knees, taste her, grovel, supplicate, make her moan until she’d forgiven him his failings. Promise to try his hardest. Be worthy of her trust. “What are you tired of?” he murmured.

Her irises were a metallic green, shining with tears, a hard swirl of cedar setting off their vibrancy. “I’m tired of pretending I’m not in love with you, even though admitting as much might send you running. And this is the real me, messy and blotchy with a runny nose and mascara dripping down my face, which I should never have put on, but I missed you and wanted to look pretty even though it totally backfired. At least I don’t have towels sticking out from under my arms, so there’s that, but I’m not always strong, and I might need to lean on you sometimes. So like I said, this is the real me, and I’m hoping it’s enough for you.”

“Are you done talking?” He hadn’t heard much after in love with you.

She sniffled and nodded.

He crushed his lips against hers, kissed her so hard and gathered her so tightly he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He grunted into her open mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he said between kisses. “I’ve never… With you—it feels like I’ve wanted you forever.”

“Since I sprouted boobs?”

He laughed hoarsely, nearly dropping her on the floor. “Probably, but that makes me feel like a dirty old man.”