Page 109 of The Beautiful Collision
“Maya,” he finally starts, his voice raw. “What you did… I don’t have any words that are big enough.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and for the first time since this whole mess started, I see him. Not the performer, not the player, not even the guilty man begging for forgiveness. Just Maine, the guy who’s twice as strong as anyone should need to be and twice as proud and twice as stubborn as anyone should be.
Maine, accepting help, and appreciating it.
“I’m so sorry,” he runs a hand through his hair. “For everything. For the bet, for the lies, for being a fucking coward.”
The words hang between us, heavy with truth.
“I know,” I say.
Really, I’ve known for weeks, since Sophie told me about him forfeiting the bet, and since he hasn’t tried any grandstanding or bullshit to win me back. But seeing him stand alone in that crowd today, a participant rather than the peacock, finally won me back.
He takes a breath, and I can see him gathering courage for something bigger.
“I love you,” he says. “I need you.”
There it is.
The apology.
The question.
The choice offered to me.
He’s looking down at his shoes now, hands in the pockets of his running shorts. And I’ve got no doubt that if I tell him I no longer feel that way, he’ll thank me again and walk away, blaming himself for what’s happened and leaving it settled there.
And, if anything, this moment clarifies to me exactly what I want.
Him.
“I know,” I say again, softer this time.
“I have no right to say it,” he continues, his face lighting up, words suddenly tumbling out like he’s afraid I’ll stop him or change my mind. “I know that. I know I fucked up in ways that might be unforgivable. But I needed you to know that it’s real. It was always real, even when I was too proud and too scared to?—“
“Maine.”
He stops talking, waiting, clearly terrified I’ll tell him it’s not enough or too late.
“You ever pull anything like that again,” I say, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill over, “and I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to you. Clear?”
The laugh that escapes him is half-sob, all relief. “Crystal.”
“Good.” I take a step closer. “You can come home. If you want.”
His hands come up to frame my face. “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”
When he kisses me, it’s not the desperate, hungry kisses we’ve shared before. This is something else entirely—gratitude and promise and the kind of bone-deep relief you feel when you finally stop holding your breath—and I return the kiss with interest.
His hands slide from my face into my hair, fingers tangling in the sweaty strands as he angles my head back, deepening the kiss with a groan that vibrates through my chest. My arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to erase every inch of space between us.
We’re both still slick with sweat from the run, salt on our lips, hearts hammering against each other’s ribs, but I don’t care. I need this—need him—like air, like the family I always deserved but never had and have now said goodbye to. I want him to be my person, my man, my family.
My everything.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and I make a sound I’ll probably be embarrassed about later, but right now all I can do is hold on tighter. One of his hands drops to my waist, fingers splaying across my lower back, pressing me against him like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.
I fist my hands in his race shirt, using it to pull him even closer, and he responds by backing me up until I hit the chain-link fence behind us. The metal rattles but holds, and then his mouth is on my jaw, my throat, pressing kisses that feel like apologies and promises and declarations all at once.
