Page 110 of What Remains

“Obvious, hmm?” he finally speaks up.

My pulse hammers, urging me forward. To bridge the space and drown the quiet. But I force myself to stay rooted in place, fingers curling at my sides.

“I don’t need to read your dear diary notes.” His jaw tightens. “If you want me to, I will. But I don’t need to.”

My mouth opens on instinct, ready to overexplain, to backpedal. But I clamp it shut. I take a single, faltering step back, the sting in my chest sharp enough to feel like rejection, even if I don’t know that’s what it is. My lungs lock, and I don’t let that breath go until he takes a step closer.

“I’m worried you believe there’s something in your past I’ll judge you for, and you think I won’t want you if I find out about it,” he says steadily. “And you’re doing this because you want to protect yourself from getting hurt now instead of later. But I promise you”—two more steps this time—“it won’t.”

“Not even what I already shared? That I had meaningless sex?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “A lot of us have. I’d never think less of you for that.”

“But you can’t look at me?” My stomach turns.

“What? No.” His eyes flash open and a slight rattle of emotion slides through his tone as he asks, “But do you wanna picture me with anyone else?”

Ohhh. “No.” The fact we’re on the same jealous page, but in a green-flag kind of way, is both comforting and a relief.

“The reason I don’t need to read them is because you don’t owe me any explanations about your past. I already know who you are.”

My vision blurs at what he’s saying, and emotion swells in my throat, pressing until it’s hard to breathe.

One more step and he’ll be close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, and I pray he takes it.

“We already have a solid foundation of trust. We’re at a place where we can be who we really are around each other without worrying about judgment. I know so much about you that I—” His gaze lowers to the floor as he grits out, “That I felt cut in fucking two when I was away from you after the accident. Like I lost half of myself.”

Yeah, well, I felt the same, which is why I was so depressed.

When he looks back up, his eyes are glossy, and something in my chest splinters open.

He closes the space between us and circles my wrist and draws it up to his mouth. His lips feather along the slight scar there from the accident, and I hope he’s kissing goodbye to his guilt from that crash once and for all.

Another kiss there before a shaky breath follows as I simply stare at him, my heart in my throat.

He returns my arm to my side and frames my face in his hands. His touch is warm and steady like always. His brows draw together as his fingers move into my hair. “If you take away everything from our past, do you know what remains?”

I lean into his touch, already undone. “What?”

“Us.”

Those two letters break the air open and slip under my skin, and it settles somewhere deep in my bones.

His eyes open—dark, heated, unguarded—and my pulse is shaky. He exhales against my cheek, close enough that I feel what he says before I hear the words.

“Be honest with me. Did you want to share your dear diary notes to draw me closer? Or, subconsciously, were they meant to scare me away because you’re afraid of getting hurt?”

Did I do that for the second reason?

He studies my face like he’s bracing for the answer.

I sniffle as he swipes at the dampness beneath my eyes. “I’m pretty sure I have abandonment issues, among other things. So, it’s possible,” I confess, hating myself for that. “You know, push you away before you leave, assuming that’s what will happen one day anyway.” There. I said it out loud. No hiding behind my dear diary thoughts. “Would it have worked?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I just can’t lose you again.”

His brows snap together the second I accidentally let loose that last word. “My walking away after the accident was a mistake, and I’m so damn sorry for that.” He tangles my hair in his fingers and leans closer. “I was scared.” He swallows. “Maybe I still am.”