shut. And we were both painfully aware of it.
"Maybe," I answered softly.
"Baby, you're worth more than that."
Then why did you not fight for me?
"Sure." Just words. They were just nothing but words.
I heard a curse before he demanded, "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" I asked, frowning.
"Why don't you believe a little in yourself?"
"I believe in myself."
He raised a brow. "You're being defensive."
"I'm not," I snapped. That's it. I was done. I set the knife down and wiped my hand on a towel. I was about to leave, when a grip on my hand stopped me.
"Do you remember what you said when I told you about Gem wanting to visit?"
I frowned and shook my head.
"You said you should've visited. Why do you blame yourself so fucking much?"
Every word stung. Because he was right, and I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I heard the door open, and his dad stood at the doorway, arms folded against his chest.
"Dad,” he warned. “She loved her. You saw her grieve.”
“I saw a woman who’s had a heart so hard, she didn’t cry.”
The callous statement left me frozen in shock.
“Patrick!” Celine cried, outraged.
“You’ve crossed the line,” Chase growled, his jaw set.
I felt so cold.
I had to get out. I needed air.
I needed space.
Because he was wrong. That I even cared what he thought made me mad at myself.
I was kicked down when I was already low, insulted, blamed, and I was so damn tired of it. I didn’t have it in me to fight and deny their accusations.
* * *
H e followed behind me in his car. I slammed my door, and watched as he did the same. He followed me as I walked all the way to my door.
“Sherr…” He looked lost, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Then, “I’m sorry about what he said.”
He didn’t need to do that.
“You don’t need to apologize for him.”
“I’m sorry anyway.”
I fumbled with my keys. It slipped from my shaking hands.
Stupid hands. Why were they shaking? I wasn’t scared, exactly. Just… Shocked. That someone who shouldn’t have mattered could say something so cold, and still hurt me.
He bent down, passing them to me. His gaze swept over me. My skin tingled, my senses seemed on high-alert.
By the time I opened the door, he shot me with a look that said, ‘aren’t you going to invite me in?’.
Because I was an idiot, I let him in. And proving I was said idiot, I couldn’t help the next words that rolled off my tongue. I needed to know what he thought, how he felt. Because I hated that I hurt him, and some twisted part of me wanted to know if he hated me back. I took a deep breath.
“If you feel the same way as he does, you don’t have to hide it.”
A frown creased his forehead, and he clenched his fists. “How can you think I could stand here and not respect you?”
“You should go back, Chase. I’m tired of hearing what people think of me.”
“You don’t know what I think of you,” he challenged. He walked closer.
“I know enough.”
“I think you’re amazing. Passionate at what you do. You feel so much, baby,” he tilted my chin up until I met his eyes. “But you never let anyone see.”
My lips parted at his admission. It stirred something in me, something that recognized there was a truth in his words.
Damn him, he was right.
“No one can ever see.”
He lifted my chin up, his eyes met mine.
He saw. He saw a lot. Too much.
All of a sudden, his lips crashed against mine. Seeking. Inviting. A hunger rose inside me.
We moved until my back hit the wall.
He licked my bottom lip and sucked.
I moaned.
My hands gripped his shirt, and I didn’t know whether I was pushing him away or pulling him towards me.
My t-shirt landed somewhere. He swept a thumb over my nipple, and I moaned. My shorts slid down, his fingers grazing the skin of my hip.
He wasn’t gentle. His hands were everywhere. Hot. Sweeping through every inch of my skin.
His lips traced my throat, my shoulder.
“You still on the
"Maybe," I answered softly.
"Baby, you're worth more than that."
Then why did you not fight for me?
"Sure." Just words. They were just nothing but words.
I heard a curse before he demanded, "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" I asked, frowning.
"Why don't you believe a little in yourself?"
"I believe in myself."
He raised a brow. "You're being defensive."
"I'm not," I snapped. That's it. I was done. I set the knife down and wiped my hand on a towel. I was about to leave, when a grip on my hand stopped me.
"Do you remember what you said when I told you about Gem wanting to visit?"
I frowned and shook my head.
"You said you should've visited. Why do you blame yourself so fucking much?"
Every word stung. Because he was right, and I didn’t know how to respond to that.
I heard the door open, and his dad stood at the doorway, arms folded against his chest.
"Dad,” he warned. “She loved her. You saw her grieve.”
“I saw a woman who’s had a heart so hard, she didn’t cry.”
The callous statement left me frozen in shock.
“Patrick!” Celine cried, outraged.
“You’ve crossed the line,” Chase growled, his jaw set.
I felt so cold.
I had to get out. I needed air.
I needed space.
Because he was wrong. That I even cared what he thought made me mad at myself.
I was kicked down when I was already low, insulted, blamed, and I was so damn tired of it. I didn’t have it in me to fight and deny their accusations.
* * *
H e followed behind me in his car. I slammed my door, and watched as he did the same. He followed me as I walked all the way to my door.
“Sherr…” He looked lost, like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. Then, “I’m sorry about what he said.”
He didn’t need to do that.
“You don’t need to apologize for him.”
“I’m sorry anyway.”
I fumbled with my keys. It slipped from my shaking hands.
Stupid hands. Why were they shaking? I wasn’t scared, exactly. Just… Shocked. That someone who shouldn’t have mattered could say something so cold, and still hurt me.
He bent down, passing them to me. His gaze swept over me. My skin tingled, my senses seemed on high-alert.
By the time I opened the door, he shot me with a look that said, ‘aren’t you going to invite me in?’.
Because I was an idiot, I let him in. And proving I was said idiot, I couldn’t help the next words that rolled off my tongue. I needed to know what he thought, how he felt. Because I hated that I hurt him, and some twisted part of me wanted to know if he hated me back. I took a deep breath.
“If you feel the same way as he does, you don’t have to hide it.”
A frown creased his forehead, and he clenched his fists. “How can you think I could stand here and not respect you?”
“You should go back, Chase. I’m tired of hearing what people think of me.”
“You don’t know what I think of you,” he challenged. He walked closer.
“I know enough.”
“I think you’re amazing. Passionate at what you do. You feel so much, baby,” he tilted my chin up until I met his eyes. “But you never let anyone see.”
My lips parted at his admission. It stirred something in me, something that recognized there was a truth in his words.
Damn him, he was right.
“No one can ever see.”
He lifted my chin up, his eyes met mine.
He saw. He saw a lot. Too much.
All of a sudden, his lips crashed against mine. Seeking. Inviting. A hunger rose inside me.
We moved until my back hit the wall.
He licked my bottom lip and sucked.
I moaned.
My hands gripped his shirt, and I didn’t know whether I was pushing him away or pulling him towards me.
My t-shirt landed somewhere. He swept a thumb over my nipple, and I moaned. My shorts slid down, his fingers grazing the skin of my hip.
He wasn’t gentle. His hands were everywhere. Hot. Sweeping through every inch of my skin.
His lips traced my throat, my shoulder.
“You still on the
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