Page 60 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
“Genevieve,” he said. His voice was low, raw, and thick with emotion.
She blinked slowly, her expression slack with disorientation. For a moment, confusion clouded her features, her gaze flickering across the room, searching, uncertain. Then, recognition dawned. Her eyes met his, truly focused, fully aware.
Relief crashed over him in a wave so forceful he could not contain it. A broken exhale tore from his throat, bringing him involuntarily to his knees beside her bed. Tears he had not shed since the darkest days of war spilled freely, unashamedly, down his scarred cheeks.
She was alive.
Gabriel took her uninjured hand in both of his, his grasp gentle, reverent.
“Forgive me,” he said, allowing his tears to flow freely.
Genevieve’s lips parted slightly, a weak breath escaping her, but no words came.
Gabriel swallowed hard.
“I cannot carry this weight any longer,” he said.
She did not pull away.
Haltingly, his voice thick with emotion, Gabriel confessed.
“I believed distance would keep you safe,” he said. “I convinced myself that holding back was the only way to protect you.”
Genevieve’s fingers shifted within his grasp, faint, tentative.
“You deserved more,” he said. “You deserved honesty, and I could not even give you that. And now, this has happened.” His throat tightened. “I have suffered so many great losses and my love for you frightened me terribly for fear I should bring ruin and devastation upon you.”
Her lashes lowered briefly, exhaustion still clearly plaguing her.
Gabriel inhaled sharply. He did not know how much time he had left to speak, so he did it quickly.
“I was wrong,” he said. “I promise to never again allow fear to dictate how I treat you.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy yet fragile. Then, her lips parted again. Her voice was a weak, strained whisper, but it was also resolute.
“You are here now,” she said, croaking
Gabriel exhaled, pressing her hand to his lips, his forehead resting lightly against her fingers.
“And I always will be,” he said.
***
The warmth of his grasp anchored Genevieve, pulling her from the depths of fragmented memories and lingering pain. Everything felt distant, softened by exhaustion, even the dull ache in her limbs, the pounding weight in her skull, and the blurred remnants of the accident. But Gabriel’s voice, low and unsteady, grounded her in the present.
His confession spilled forth in a quiet murmur beside her pillow, words steeped in anguish.
Genevieve listened, her breath uneven, her vision still hazy, but clarity pressed through the haze and the fragile understanding she had gained before. Hearing him speak the truth aloud, hearing him lay bare the agonizing love beneath his flawed, self-destructive strategy, made something tighten in her chest.
Her fingers twitched faintly, managing a weak but deliberate pressure in his grasp.
A soft breath passed her lips.
“You were afraid,” she said.
Gabriel exhaled sharply.
“I failed you,” he said.
