He took my hand in his. His skin felt wrong. Cold and dry, clay-like. His mortality crashed into me like a wrecking ball.

He could have died.

He almost had died.

“Well, suffice it to say, things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to.” I sniffed, brushing my thumb over his knuckles. “You humiliated me beyond belief, West. You took the promise you made me and crushed it into dust in front of everyone we know.”

He screwed his eyes shut, drawing a breath. The scars from that day were rawer for me than anything I’d worn on my face and arm. Because the person I loved the most made them.

“You said you were my girlfriend, and you were. Fuck, part of me is pathetic enough to hope you still are, and all I could see was Kade Appleton’s little rats running back to him and telling him about the pretty blonde that had my balls in a grip. I knew you’d be a target. I needed to throw him off your scent. To make sure he stayed far away from you. And the only way I could have done that was to make you straight up hate me that week and ensure you stayed the hell away.”

“Mission accomplished. But you still visited my house. Spied on me.”

He shrugged, a sad ghost of a smile passing through his face.

“I never pretended to possess admirable self-control where you’re involved, Texas Shaw. Hence why we’re in this mess. If only I could stay away from you.”

“You’d still be in this position. He wanted to ruin you because you were better. And you let him.”

Silence blanketed the room. Eventually, he turned his face toward me. “Baby”—he smiled triumphantly—“You’re not wearing any makeup.”

My mouth dropped. I put a hand to my injured side, feeling my eyes narrowing. Christ. My face was completely bare. I’d spent the entire day at the nursing home without a drop of makeup and hadn’t even noticed people’s reactions. No funny looks. No disgusted frowns. No children pointing and laughing at me. No hushed whispers or judgmental sneers.

Huh.

“I’m proud of you, Texas.”

“You’ll be prouder when you hear this—know where I’ve been today?”

He closed his eyes, pretending to say a little prayer.

“Wherever it was, I hope there aren’t any attractive men in this story.”

I chuckled, rolling my eyes. “I helped Grams unpack her things. She moved to a nursing home just outside Austin. The one from the brochure you left me—Heartland Gardens. She’s adaptin’ well and has an equally eccentric roommate to keep her company.”

“Holy crap,” he boomed. His voice was so loud, Mrs. St. Claire rushed into the room to make sure everything was okay.

“Westie? You all right?”

“Yes, Mother. I’m injured, not six. Shut the door.”

She laughed when she saw the grin on his face, shaking her head and closing the door again, giving us privacy.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, it’s unreal. You taking part in the play. Doing the right thing by Grams. You’re like my hero, Tex. Can I get an autograph?”

“Sure can.” I laughed.

“Anywhere on my body?” He wiggled his brows. I took his casted palm in mine and kissed the tips of his fingers.

It was late evening, and I needed to go. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Staying with West was tempting, but facing the music was part of my healing process. I had to see tonight through. It was my first night alone in the house, without Grams. My first night alone, period. I had to get used to that.

“I’m glad you’re okay, West. I’m sure you need your rest, so I’ll be goin’ now.” I stood up, sliding my hand out of his. His grip tightened around mine. His throat worked around the word that slid out of his mouth.

“Don’t.”

I studied him silently.

“Don’t leave me. I’ve been getting real good at recognizing goodbyes, and once you go through that door, you are not going to come back.”

He wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t do this anymore. Put my heart on the line and hope he’d keep it safe. Not when he’d handled it so carelessly before.

“You’ll survive without me,” I whispered, a tear sliding down my cheek. It slipped into my mouth, its saltiness spreading over my tongue.

“Surviving is not gonna cut it anymore. I survived for five years before I met you. It wasn’t enough.”

He took a deep breath, groaning. Every breath put him in pain, and I was the reason he’d gotten beaten up so badly.

“I can’t unfeel, unlaugh, undo everything that went down between us.” He shook his head. “I can’t unlove you, Grace Shaw. You’re inked in my fucking DNA, to a point I’ve completely lost my ability to think straight. One second I mauled you like a bobcat, the other I pushed you away, not wanting you to get tangled up in my shit. I pushed you and pulled you and chased you and hurt you and worshipped you every which way, because I couldn’t say those fucking words the first time they sprang into my mind. I love you.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You love me?”

“Shit, Tex. There’s no word for what I feel for you. That first night we hung out? When Grams went missing? It was the first time I felt like my old self again, before Aubrey died. Something about it was light and fun and just … real.” He let out a sigh. “You were stressed, and worried, and suddenly, I needed to step up. It was the first time I saw crumbs of my former self. I think it was because you gave me so much shit.” He laughed, covering his eyes with his forearm. “You just gave zero fucks about who I was. What my name meant in this town. I was drawn to that. And ever since that night, I couldn’t get enough of you. I consumed you in every form possible—friend, lover, roommate, colleague, peer. I just needed you around. Constantly. I tried to fight it. I tried telling myself it was nothing. But every time I took a step back, you, or Easton, or Reign—any-fucking-one in my life—put me back in my place and made me see I was all about this Grace Shaw life.”

I bowed my head, biting my lip to keep myself from bawling like a baby. I’d dreamed of this moment every night for weeks. Months, even. Yet now that he’d finally confessed his love to me, the words felt like beautiful, empty bullet cases.

He hurt me.

Not once.

Not twice.

I wasn’t stupid enough to put myself through it a fourth time without some sort of commitment. A sign that he would at least try to protect me from himself next time things didn’t work out.