Page 206 of Sinful Lies

The words hit the air like stones, heavy and jagged, and I pursed my lips, trying to keep the sobs from breaking loose.

But they did anyway.

“And I didn’t stop running,” I continued, my voice shaking. “I spiraled—into drugs, alcohol, sex, anything to numb it. I got arrested. I became this person she wouldn’t even recognize. This person she wouldn’twantto recognize. I made myself unworthy of her love because I thought… I thought if I didn’t deserve it, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much when I lost it.”

I blinked hard, the tears blurring everything in front of me.

“She begged me not to go down that path, Angelo. Begged me not to destroy myself for revenge. She told me she didn’t want that for me, that it wouldn’t bring my sister back.” My voicecracked again. “And what did I do? Iignoredher. I spent years consumed by it—by hate, by this gnawing, endless need to get even. I wasn’t there for her the way I should’ve been. I was too busy plotting, too busy running from everything she asked me to face.”

I looked away, fixing my gaze on the snow-covered ground as though it could somehow ground me.

“And then when she got sick…” I could barely push the words out now. “I tried. God, Itried.I visited. I held her hand. I told myself I was there for her. But I wasn’t. Not really. I was so scared of losing her too, so scared of what it would do to me, that I couldn’t—I couldn’t let myself get close. Not the way I should have.”

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms.

“I thought if I just kept my distance, if I braced myself, maybe it wouldn’t destroy me when it happened. But it did anyway. And I can’t—” My knees buckled, and before I could hit the ground, Angelo was there. His arms steadied me, his hold strong, like he’d been waiting for me to fall all along.

“I didn’t get to tell her,” I sobbed, my voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t get to tell her how much I loved her. How much Istilllove her. I didn’t get to tell her I was sorry for every single way I failed her. That I’d carry her with me for the rest of my life, even if it killed me.”

Angelo’s hand cradled the back of my head, the other wrapping around me like he thought he could hold all the broken pieces of me together.

“You think she didn’t know?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered. My fists clenched weakly at his dress shirt, the fight gone out of me. “I don’t know if she did, Angelo.”

“She knew,” he said, his voice rough, but certain. “You think love like that just disappears? She knew, Jade. And shestilldoes.”

I let the words settle, let the weight of them press against the ache in my chest.

And for the first time in months, I let myself cry for her—not just for the loss, but for the love too. The kind that never really fades, no matter how far you run.

Angelo swept me up, cradling me against him as my nails dug into his skin, desperate for something to hold on to. I buried my face in his neck, tears soaking his shirt, shaking with everything I couldn’t say.

His grip was unbreakable, his body strong as he carried me back to the car.

I tossed the damp towel into the basket, steam curling in lazy tendrils from the bathroom. I was wearing one of Angelo’s T-shirts—something I’d found in the bag he’d packed for me. It was soft, loose, brushing just above my knees.

The door creaked open, and fog spilled into the room as I made my way to the bed, my legs heavy, my mind even heavier.

After my breakdown, Angelo had held me in the car, letting me fall apart in his arms until exhaustion had taken over. I didn’t remember much—just the warmth of him and the steady rhythm of his breathing. I must’ve passed out, because the next thing I knew, he was carrying me into the hotel lobby.

He didn’t say much—just that I should shower and relax. Then he left, promising he’d be back.

Too numb, and too drained to question him, I did as he said.

I slipped under the covers, pulling them tight around me, like they could shield me from the world. The room was heavy with quiet, the kind that crept into your chest and refused to leave. Shadows bled across the walls, stretching and twisting with the dim light outside.

It wasn’t late, barely past five, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to stop feeling.

And yet, I couldn’t deny it—I felt lighter. Raw, wrecked, but lighter.

Angelo had done it.

He’d broken me apart, dragged out all the things I’d buried so deep they’d started to rot, and had forced me to say them out loud. It had hurt like hell, but the pain wasn’t as unbearable now. It was something else, something almost… freeing.

I stared at the ceiling.

The ache was still there, but it wasn’t crushing me the way it used to. For years, I’d carried it alone, letting it fester and eat away at me. But today, Angelo had taken some of that weight. He hadn’t fixed me—he couldn’t—but he’d made it bearable.

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