“Wow. Okay. You get points for honesty.”
He grips my hand, and Beau snarls at our feet. Tobias snarls back. “She was mine first, fucker.”
I lift his chin with my finger as he stands off in a cock fight with my dog. “Think you might want to sleep it off, and maybe we can talk in the morning?”
He entangles our fingers. “I don’t want to be your thorn, Cecelia.”
“I know.”
“I am yours.”
“Yes,” I muse as we stand in my obliterated kitchen, “in all your glory.”
He frowns. “I fucked this all up. I was going to wine you, dine you, make you come,” he murmurs, his thick lips tempting even in his state. “I was going to make you remember how good we are. I want to do things for you like I used to. You used to let me.”
“I’d say you’ve done enough for one day.”
“This has to stop. You have to face me.”
“I’m looking right at you.”
He places his palm over where his heart lies, his eyes intent, his voice urgent. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Eyes dipping to where his hand rests on his muscular chest covered partially by my fiery-pink, lipstick-kissed apron, I lift it to inspect a painful-looking grease burn. “Does it hurt?”
“Stop, look at me.”
I do, and in his gaze, I see nothing but yearning.
“I want to live here.”
“You are living here.”
“I’m existing here, but we can make a life here if that’s what you want. I’ll give you whatever you want. Dream with me again, Cecelia. Dream a thousand more dreams with me, and I will make them all come true. I can give you promises. Promises I couldn’t before.”
“Tobias—”
“I don’t want to be your goddamn thorn or the moon you cry for!”
When I jump due to his outburst, he closes his eyes, running his flour-crusted fingernails through his hair, coloring more of his onyx strands white.
My eyes narrow as I weigh his words, his actions, his desperation. “This is about more than the book. What aren’t you telling me?”
Haunted. That’s exactly how he looks. Even in the bright lights of the kitchen, I can see the tortuous shadows of the past closing in on him.
“Tell me we’re still possible, Cecelia. Tell me I’m not too late.”
“Sleep it off. We’ll talk when you’re sober.”
“It’s hard for me to make sense of my life so you understand.”
“You’re making perfect sense.”
He shakes his head as though he’s not getting through to me. He pulls his hand out of my grip, sliding down against the cabinet onto the floor. “I want to tell you…so much.”
“I’m listening.”
“Your heart isn’t open to me, and until it is, you won’t truly hear me.” He pauses for several seconds and closes his eyes. For a minute, I think he might’ve passed out until he speaks up and his eyes open to slits. “The morning, at Roman’s house, the day I confessed to you, you said…that Dom said something about us, about you and me,” He brings glistening eyes to mine.
I nod, tears filling my own eyes. “I’ll tell you tomorrow when you’ll remember.”
“I can’t forget anything. Don’t you understand?” He grips his hair, agony twisting his features. “My mind does this to me.” He chokes on emotion. “I can’t ask you tomorrow,” he whispers hoarsely. “Please understand I can’t ask you again.”