Page 69 of Broken Roads
"He lived," I say quickly, needing to get to that part. "Broken ribs, concussion, fractured collarbone. But he lived. I could have killed him, Bradley. Because I was too selfish, too wrapped up in my own pain to call a cab."
The tears flow freely now, tracking hot paths down my cheeks. Bradley's hand comes up to brush them away, his touch impossibly gentle.
"The police came. I failed the breathalyzer, obviously. Spent the night in jail." I shake my head, still amazed at what happened next. "The victim's family could have pushed for maximum charges. The prosecutor was ready to make an example of me. But instead..."
I look up at Bradley, needing him to understand this part. "Instead, they asked the judge for leniency. Said ruining another life wouldn't help anyone heal. The judge sentenced me to community service and mandatory AA meetings instead of jail time."
The memory of that mercy still brings me to my knees some days. I didn't deserve their compassion, but they gave it anyway.
"Those meetings saved my life," I admit. After a long pause, I take a steadying breath and continue. "I wanted to be honest with you, the way you were with me. Even if it changes how you see me."
The fear rises again—that he'll pull away, that the desire in his eyes will be replaced with disgust. I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction, for the inevitable shift that comes when people learn the ugliest parts of my truth.
But he doesn't hesitate. He moves closer, taking both my hands firmly in his. "Thank you for trusting me with this."
The simplicity of his response loosens the knot of anxiety I've been carrying since we planned this trip.
"You're the strongest person I know," he continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "What happened was terrible, but what you did after? Getting sober, rebuilding your life? That takes courage most people will never understand."
A sob catches in my throat, not from sadness but from the overwhelming relief of being seen, truly seen, and not found wanting.
"I'm not perfect," I whisper. "I still struggle. Some days are harder than others."
"Who the hell wants perfect?" Bradley's voice is rough with emotion. "I want real. I want you, sunshine. All of you. The good parts, the messy parts, all of it."
He releases my hands to frame my face, thumbs gently wiping away the tears on my cheeks. "Your past doesn't scare me off. If anything, knowing what you've overcome just makes me..." He pauses, seemingly searching for the right words. "It makes me admire you even more."
I lean into his touch, overwhelmed by the acceptance I find in his eyes. Where I expected judgment, I find understanding. Where I feared rejection, I find something that looks dangerously close to acceptance.
"Bradley," I whisper, his name a prayer on my lips.
"I'm right here, sunshine," he murmurs. "And I'm not going anywhere."
In the gathering darkness, with stars beginning to emerge overhead and the valley spread out below us, I feel something settle inside me—a piece falling into place I didn't know was missing. For the first time in longer than I can remember, the future doesn't terrify me. Because whatever comes next, I won't face it alone.
Chapter 29
Bradley
The weight of Hailey's confession settles between us like nightfall across the valley—inevitable, transformative, and so fucking beautiful in its honesty. Her tears glisten in the dim light, and something deep inside me breaks free. I've spent years building walls, keeping people at a careful distance, but watching her bare her soul to me, trusting me with her darkest moments shatters something fundamental.
Cupping her face, I brush away the wetness on her cheeks, and what I feel in this moment is so much bigger than desire.
It's reverence.
"Bradley," she whispers, her voice wavering slightly.
I don't have words adequate enough to respond. Instead, I slide my fingers to the nape of her neck, thread them through the silky strands of her hair, and pull her mouth to mine. The kiss starts soft, an acknowledgment of the fragility of this moment, of the courage it took for her to lay herself bare before me. It's the gentlest kiss we've shared, and somehow the most devastating.
But gentleness can only sustain us for so long.
Something ignites between us, that ever-present spark finally catching flame. Her lips part on a sigh, and I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers in a slow, deliberate exploration that makes her whimper against my mouth. The sound is needy, so beautiful it travels straight to my cock, hardening me instantly.
"I fucking want you," I murmur against her lips. "All of you."
She fists my shirt, pulling me closer. "You have me."
Those three words snap what remains of my restraint. I slide my hands down to her waist and lift her effortlessly onto my lap, relishing in her little gasp of surprise. She settles with her thighs spread across mine, her body instinctively finding the perfect position. And the weight of her against my dick sends heat spiraling through me.
