Page 118 of Break Point
“I’m right here,” he says, his voice low but steady. “And I’m so fucking sorry.” He pauses slightly between each word, letting them breathe, letting them reach into my mind and settle there once and for all. “For everything.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I say. “I didn’t stop to think about how dealing with Robbie must’ve been a trigger. You don’t deserve to go through that ever again. I didn’t see it yesterday. But I do now, and I’m sorry.”
“I’m used to it.” He squeezes my hand and brings it closer to him.
“You shouldn’t be.”
He shrugs.
“I still hate you,” I mutter.
“I know.”
“It ebbs and flows,” I admit. It’s the truth. “And it’s not just about what happened last night.”
“I know that, too.”
He comes closer, wrapping his arms around me. Slowly. Carefully. I lean into the embrace, resting my cheek on his warm, steady chest. He leans back, pulling me with him. Now we’re on our side, face to face, and Henry’s firm grip around my back and waist is the only thing keeping me from sliding off the sofa.
“Thank you for offering to take me to Mexico,” I say. “Means a lot.”
“Of course.” His nose touches mine in a gentle, deliberate way. It makes my breath hitch. “I’m excited.”
“Someone could come in,” I remind him.
Yesterday, he seemed nervous about anyone coming into the suite and seeing him “half-naked” when I asked him to take off his hoodie. And it all comes crashing back. The lies, the omissions. I can’t do this anymore.
“I don’t care anymore,” he says.
“You should.”
You still do.
Henry’s lips graze mine, but I back up. Slowly. Not recoiling. It’s more of anIf I kiss you, I’m coming undone, and I don’t want tosort of way. It’s already taking all my available willpower to do so.
Henry wants to kiss our problems away, but I can’t look past the factthat he still doesn’t trust me with the truth. I know he’s not ready to open up to me. He’s made it clear, and I need to stop forcing him to do so, or we won’t recover from this.
It’s hard to believe he’s had a change of heart since last night.
I want this. God, I want him. But not like this. Not when I’m the only one bleeding out in the open.
“We shouldn’t,” I say. “You were right. Now’s not a good time.”
He frowns. Nods.
“Okay.” He runs his arms tightly around my waist and helps me into a seating position.
He hesitates. “Why?”
“Because we can’t kiss our way out of things you still won’t say out loud.”
It lands. I feel it in the way his jaw flexes. In the way his hands fall away from me like he knows I’m right. Like part of himhatesthat I’m right.
“And besides,” I add, softer now, “you said it last night. You said we couldn’t. Not like this. Not yet. And I agree.”
“I also said I was going to stop by your room after dealing with Robbie,” he says. “To talk to you. And I know I didn’t have the chance to do so. But?—
“Were you going to tell me about your injury?”
