Page 31 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

“Not all of it. But I knew someone had hurt you. It wasn’t hard to piece together who it could have been. You were using me to survive it.” His fingertip brushes across my cheek. “And I let you. Because I was selfish enough to take any piece of you I could get. But I saw the pain in your eyes afterward… so I told you to go.”

“Julian…”

“I did. You were heartbroken, and as much as I wanted you—because I always fucking do—you needed time to heal.”

Now my heart bleeds worse than my hand.

He rubs circles on my wrist as he continues.

“You aren’t the only one who kept secrets. I sat across from Fuller after we...” He shakes his head. “After you walked away.”

I gasp. Did he tell him something about me? He wouldn’t do that. I don’t think.

“I let him think I was angry enough to help build a case against you. I gave him a fake location. I played informant for Elliot because I thought it would buy you time.”

My heart drops.

“You worked with the FBI?”

“I worked against them. Elliot and I both did.” His voice softens. “But yes. I should have told you.”

Why would he go through all of that after kicking me out? It was humiliating, but after I let him believe I cheated, I probably deserved it. Still, the pain feels fresh even as his blue eyes hold mine.

“It felt like you didn't want me.”

His face twists. “Ettie, wanting you was never the problem. Loving you was.” His fingers tighten around my wrist.

“Julian, I’m…”

Sorry.

I love you.

I need you.

You shouldn't forgive me for any of it.

He turns my palm over and looks at the cut again. It doesn’t look too deep, but the edges pull apart when he flexes my palm. His mouth tightens.

“This needs a stitch,” he says.

I scoff. “No. It’s just a scratch.”

“Lee.”

“Julian.” I mock his tone and pretend it doesn’t sting that he called me Lee. “Fine,” I mutter. “One or two. And then you’re not allowed to look smug about it. You really don’t know everything, Doctor.”

“But what if I do?” he replies with a smirk, already pulling out a needle. I hiss when he numbs my palm.

I watch his hands as he works using them to try to fix me. If only it could fix the brokenness inside my soul. At the loss of him. The loss of Em. The loss of Elliot.

His hands are so gentle. Those same hands have held my throat and made me come so hard I blacked out.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from squeezing my legs shut.

When he’s done, he tapes the bandage down and lifts my hand to inspect his work. He presses a kiss on my wrist.

“There,” he says. “Good as new.”