Page 57 of Second Goal

“I need some space.” I pull away and start for the door.

“You didn’t kill Ezra.”

My footsteps falter. “What?”

“The PI I hired, he looked at the medical records. The man died weeks after you hit him, and not from the blow to his head. He died of an overdose.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Cruz has nothing on you.”

I let out a shaky breath as I try to digest the new information. “I didn’t kill him.”

“No.” Blake’s hands rest on my shoulders. “Which means we can go to the police and you can put a restraining order on Cruz. He can’t hurt you—”

“But he can still hurt Amy.”

He moves toward me. “What do you want me to do?”

I want him to pull me into his arms and hold me. But I know that’s not what I need now. I need space to figure this all out.

“Let me walk away,” I say quietly, even though it goes against everything I want.

“Kiley—”

“I can’t be with someone who thinks the worst of me.”

“You’re wrong. I... fuck.” He drags his hands through his hair making it stand on end. “I love you, Kiley.”

I’ve wanted to hear those words from him for so long, but somehow they feel wrong right now.

“You can’t love someone you don’t trust. Tell me you trust me, and I’ll stay.”

I see the resignation in his eyes. “I’m trying,” he mutters. “But you’re wrong. I do love you, Kiley. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

I wish it were enough. Maybe a couple weeks ago it would have been. But I need more. Deserve more.

“I love you too, Blake. But—”

He pulls me into his arms, and even though I want to fight him, I know I can’t. His lips press against the top of my head, and when I rest my cheek against his chest, I can feel his heart beating erratically.

“Don’t leave,” he begs, cupping my jaw. “I know I fucked up tonight. I reacted emotionally.” His thumb rubs across my bottom lip, and I see the panic in his eyes when he forces me to look at him. “And I’m sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you.”

“You tracked my phone and hired a PI to dig up information on me. I know that you think you were protecting me, but it just proves that you don’t trust me.”

“Forgive me,” he mutters, forehead resting against mine and lacing our fingers together, he kisses my knuckles.

It’s not about forgiveness. Because I know I can’t fault him for any of his actions. We’re both reacting in the way our natures demand. Him, possessive and controlling. Me, guarded and numb.

“Maybe we’re both too broken,” I tell him.

“Then we help each other heal.”

I want to believe him. He’s already healed me in so many ways. But seeing the suspicion in his eyes when he’d come into the apartment tonight, it’d felt like he’d taken a sledgehammer to my heart.

And the new information that buzzes through my brain is making everything feel distorted. I should feel relieved that I didn’t kill Ezra. And I do. But I’m more confused than ever.

I pull back. “I just... I need space.”

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