Page 32 of Heal For Me

“What do you mean?”

“If I was younger in this scenario, which the timeline doesn’t make sense I was playing for college but agreed to coach you. But, if that were the case, we would have started out in an affair, but the end result would have been the same.”

I eye him for a passing beat, oh, he’s serious. “Why do you think that? I’m a good girl.”

“The best,” He growls and nips at my cheek. “But you are the one with my ring. I never even considered marriage to anyone before you and here you are after only months together with my nan’s ring on your finger. You are the one I would choose in every timeline, Payson. The only reason anyone would have had my ring on their finger, would be because I hadn’t met you yet.”

He grabs my hand to hold it up, allowing both of us to admire the prettiest ring I’ve ever seen. It’s gold, with a teardrop-shaped blue sapphire surrounded by smaller diamonds. Truly is beautiful, and if I had thought about my engagement ring at all, I’d like to think I would have picked one like this. The fact it’s his nana’s makes me believe that, I don’t know, we really were meant to be.

“Besides, younger Ash would have loved your obsession even more than I do now.”

I elbow him, but giggle and drop my head to his chest. “I still can’t believe you proposed and I didn’t even get to see you on one knee.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t on one knee, but that can be arranged. Should I plan a proper proposal?”

My heart immediately speeds up, but not in a good way. “Like in public, with people watching? Absolutely not. Honestly, doing it while I was unconscious was the best decision.”

He leans down and brushes his nose over mine, a gentle smile tugging on his lips. “Yeah, but I didn’t get to hear you say yes.”

True. “But you know I would have anyway.”

He purses his lips and leans back. “True. But it doesn’t matter. You could tell me no and I would still force your hand in marriage.”

There’s the Ash I love. I know most women would hate their boyfriend—er, fiancé—bossing them around the way Ash does me, but I love it, and he knows I love it. “That’s a little sick, you know. Grooming me, forcing my hand in marriage. Kinda gross, Coach.”

My heart bursts when he throws his head back and barks out a loud laugh. It echoes against the tall ceiling, and I relish in the deep gravel of his laugh. It’s so good not focusing on anything but us right now.

“We were never just going to be player and coach, Pay. I had you in my sights before you even walked into that gym.”

“And I, you.”

He drops his hand to the side of my face and drags his thumb over my bottom lip. “God, I fucking missed you.”

Unexpected tears prick my eyes, mostly because I can feel how much he means that. I can’t imagine how hard these past few weeks have been on him. If roles were reversed, I don’t know what I would’ve done.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is a whisper, but he shushes me anyway.

“Do not apologize to me, please.”

“But—”

“Payson, please,” he snaps, but it’s not mean. More of a beg. “I hold too much guilt for everything, so hearing you apologize for my mistake . . .” He stares off into the distance and shakes his head. “Just, please. Do not say sorry.”

Guilt? Why on earth does he have guilt? It wasn’t his fault my grandpa . . . I was pushed over the edge and cut myself. “I won’t apologize, but, Ash.” I stroke his cheek and beard until he turns his stormy eyes on me. “Nothing is your fault. Please do not think that.”

His lips flatten, and he bares his teeth. “I cut you, Payson.” He yanks my arm—harshly and lifts it into the setting sun so the word beautiful, along with my other cuts, is highlighted. “I carved your beautiful skin and believed I was helping.”

There is no point in arguing with him. He has let himself believe for weeks that this is all his fault, so nothing I say will help. But there may be something I can do.

I pull my arm away and push onto my knees. I know there are cameras in this room, but I also know Uncle Jet isn’t sitting there watching them. He isn’t a fan of our relationship, so he’s definitely not going to want a front row to our interactions.

I straddle his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “I love you.” I move and press my lips to his. He kisses me back, but he’s hesitant. Maybe because where we are, or because he’s afraid to touch or hurt me, but I need him to. I won’t have sex on my uncle’s couch—that’s weird—but I need more than the pecks I’ve been getting. And I think he does too.

“Whether you want to believe it or not, you did help me, Ash.” I feel him wanting to pull away, but I don’t let him. “I didn’t feel beautiful before you.”

He scoffs, obviously not believing me. “That is impossible.”

“Is it? I have all these scars.” I hold my arms out between us. “Scars that remind me of every bad moment I’ve ever had. Each one of them makes me feel dirty . . . besides yours. I know I should have never asked you to cut me, and maybe you should have never agreed, but at least I can look at a few of these, and this”—I point to the word beautiful—“and feel anything other than dirty. Now, not all the scars on my body are reminders of the bad times. They are reminders of how deeply we were lost in each other.”

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