Page 168 of Before We Were

Her gasps like broken prayers.

That look in her eyes when I told her to keep them on me—fuck, that look.

It wasn't just lust. It was something deeper.

She looked at me like I was her only tether to earth. And briefly, I believed I could be that.

Steady. Safe. Enough.

But I'm not.

My mind loops endlessly—her mouth on my neck, her voice cracking when she said I'd ruined her long before tonight. The way she trusted me completely, falling apart in my arms without fear or shame.

I didn't deserve any of it.

She sleeps beside me now, breathing easily like we didn't just shatter every boundary. Not because she didn't want it—but because she deserves better than what I am. I stare at the ceiling while shadows dance like ghosts of all my former selves. And still, she trusts me with her silence.

With her body.

With everything.

I want to be good for her. To be the man she sees when she looks at me with her heart in her eyes. But underneath, I'm all sharp edges and smoke. I'm terrified that staying close will only burn her.

I kissed her like she was mine. Touched her like she was sacred. Loved her like it wouldn't destroy us. But in the brutal quiet of night, one question splinters through me:Did I just fuck up the one good thing I've ever had?

I know exactly when it happened. I saw it.

Felt it.

One moment she was clinging to me like I was worth holding—and then...

Her eyes changed first.

That flicker—impossible to miss. Not fear of me, but something deeper. A shadow I know too well. I've seen it in the mirror. On Mom's face whenever Scott entered a room. The kind of fear that bruises souls, not just skin.

Her breath hitched in panic. Her hands trembled. Her heartbeat raced against mine like she was running with nowhere to go.

She pulled back—not physically—but I felt her retreat. Curl inward like an animal cornered once too often. Her tears fell quietly, almost apologetically, as if pain was something she had to bear alone.

I wanted to tear the world apart and rebuild it so she'd never feel that way again. I held her tighter, fingers in her hair, whispering her name like a lifeline.

Then she whispered his.

"Evan."

One word.

One name—and everything inside me detonated.

That smug prick from the restaurant with our moms, looking at her like she was something to take. I should've known when Ollie mentioned him. Should've done something.

Now I know.

And I want to kill him.

I've never felt rage so blinding and feral. It rose so fast I thought I'd be sick. But I couldn't move or react. Because this moment wasn't about me.

It was about her—trusting me to hold her through her silent breaking.

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