Page 118 of Body Shot

I lift my head from where I buried it in the side of her neck to gaze solemnly down at her.

She blinks hazy eyes at me, the corners of her mouth lifting.

“I love you,” I say quietly.

“I love you, too.”

I kiss her again, putting all my emotion into the kiss, until we’re both breathless again. I roll to the side, bringing her with me, my cock half-hard, still inside her.

“Jesus, Hayden. I wanted to teach you about pleasure. About living in the moment.”

“You did.” Her eyes shine back at me.

“But you taught me so much, too. I always thought I was loyal to my friends, my partners . . . but I let them down.”

“What?” Her forehead creases.

We move apart, but not really, lying on our sides facing each other, legs twisted together. I tell her about the conversation with Marco and Cade and how I’d been so wrecked that I’d fucked up, but how I’d been convinced that we’re good for each other. That we needed to be together. “And then you broke up with me.”

“Oh.” Her eyes shadow.

“I’m sorry again for what I said to you that day. About hiding from life.”

She gives her head a small shake. “No. You were right. Aunt Gina said the same thing. She thinks I never dealt with the grief of losing my parents.”

My breath tightens in my chest. “What doyouthink?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And . . . ” She catches her plump bottom lip between her teeth. “I think she was right. And so were you. Keeping busy was my way of protecting myself. Of never having to think. Or feel. Until you came along.”

“Tell me about it. About them.”

She sucks her bottom lip briefly, then says, “It was really awful. By the time they diagnosed my dad, the cancer had grown too big to be able to treat, which is often the case with pancreatic cancer. They gave him six months, but it turned into eight. We wanted him to be at home as long as we could, but eventually I had to convince my mom that he should be in palliative care. She hated that but she was exhausted. We both were. It was so hard seeing him like that.” Her voice quavers.

“Yeah. It must have been.”

She swallows. “And then about six months after he died, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. And we went through it all over again. She had treatment but she ended up dying two years later. I think she just didn’t have the strength to fight it, after losing Dad.”

“Jesus.”

“I was about to start college, and it was hard. I was so scared. I was alone. My aunt and uncle helped me get through that and through my first year of college, so I wasn’t really alone, but I felt that way. I was pissed off at everything, because it was so not fair. And . . . remember I told you about getting tested for the BRCA1 and BRCA2 mutations?”

“Right.”

“That terrified me, too. I was convinced I was going to die of cancer, too.”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry for what you went through.” My chest squeezes painfully.

She nods, with a sad little smile. “The fact that they’d been tested before they died was an amazing gift for me. To set my mind at ease.”

“That was so young to go through that.”

“It was. And . . . well, after that I just focused on studying, grad school, research. It kept me from thinking too much about everything that had happened. So, yeah, you were right.”

“I still shouldn’t have said what I did. I was pissed and, well, hurt, because of falling short at the bar, and because of my parents. They told me the same shit. That I’d never live up to their expectations. That I’d never live up to Aidan. That I’d let them down by letting him die.”

“Oh my God.” She lays her hand on my cheek, her eyebrows sloping down in distress. “What? They said that?”

I swallow thickly. “Yeah. And I felt responsible.”

---