The goblet slipped from Taryn’s hand, shattering against the hardwood. Wine spread at her feet, and bits of lead crystal scattered along the floor.

“Don’t move.” I looked around at the boxes. “Do you have any paper towels? Or a dish cloth?”

Since my little confession left her speechless, I was on my own. Pulling open a container marked “kitchen,” I sifted through the clutter, turning in horror when she screeched.

Balanced on one leg, she gripped the edge of the counter while a steady drip of blood slid from her foot, splattering the puddle of wine.

“Baby, I told you not to move.” I slipped my arms under her knees and then lifted her up, the glass crunching under my boots as I extricated her from the mess. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Ouch.” She squirmed to get a view of her injury and then looked up at me. “I think I stepped on glass.”

Heading toward the dim light in the hallway, I held her tighter. “You did. We need to see how bad it is.”

From the amount of wine she’d consumed, Taryn probably didn’t feel it. But having her in my arms?

Shit.

“Put me down,” she protested.

Even as she said it, she burrowed closer to my chest, so I ignored her rambling. It’s not like she could walk, I reasoned. I drug my feet as I crossed the room, just to prolong the contact.

Pathetic.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked.

“I think so.” She blinked up at me, then frowned. “It’s in a box somewhere.”

Sweeping the toiletries from the counter, I eased her onto the granite. “I’ll find it.” I took her ankle and gently maneuvered her foot over the sink. “Are you in pain?”

A small amount of blood dripped onto my hand, and she gasped, squirming to get free of my hold.

“Baby …” Sliding my hand up her leg, I inched my way in front of her. “It looks worse than it is. I don’t think you need stitches.” Noting the panic in her big blue eyes, I fed her the first bullshit line that popped into my head. “Your blood is thinner here. It’s the dry heat or something.”

She narrowed her gaze skeptically. “You’re full of shit,” she blurted, her bottom lip pouting in the most adorable way. “I think you’re full of shit.”

My common sense left the building, the same way it did the first day we met.

“Probably,” I said as I pressed a kiss to her mouth. The bitter wine mixed with her sweet taste in the best way.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she breathed, resting her palms on my chest.

“Is it working?”

“Uh-huh.”

Only the prospect of an infection from the gash on her foot tore me from her lips. That and the fact that she was probably drunk, and I didn’t want to give her another reason to hate me. I hadn’t gotten a chance to explain all the reasons she shouldn’t hate me for my last lapse in judgment.

“Let me fix you up.” I stroked her hair. “Where are your tweezers?”

Confusion lit her blue irises. “Uh … in that box. If I have any. I get waxed.”

She turned beet red at the admission, since we both knew that her eyebrows weren’t the only place that received that particular treatment. After six months with no sex, and no release beyond Taryn’s image behind my lids when I stroked myself in the shower, my mind immediately went there.

Much to my embarrassment, my dick decided this was the perfect time to acknowledge Taryn’s presence.

“Let me just find those … um … tweezers.” As I crouched to open the container, I discreetly adjusted my erection. I needn’t have bothered. The minute I saw the stash of men’s razors and the other obviously male toiletries, all the wind left my sails.

Flinging the deodorant and aftershave on the travertine, a stick of Degree for Men slid across the floor, landing right below her.

“T-that’s not mine,” she stammered.

No shit.

“I didn’t think it was.” I grabbed a first aid kit, a bottle of alcohol, and the elusive tweezers. “Unless you’ve developed a wicked perspiration problem.”

Her eyes widened, zeroing in on the rubbing alcohol in my hand. Considering my ardor had cooled dramatically, I debated letting her squirm. But that look on her face. God … she was terrified.

“The alcohol is to sterilize these.” I held up the tweezers.

Relief flooded her face. “Oh.”

I washed my hands before pouring alcohol over my fingers and the little pink tweezers. “You ready?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

I gave Taryn a small smile as I set up the makeshift triage supplies on a towel. The wine was still playing havoc with her emotions. The fear morphed into something else, some thought wicked enough to hood her eyes as she stared at me.

“I’m going to try not to hurt you.” Dropping to my knees, I took her ankle without breaking our gaze. “Don’t move. If it gets too bad—scream. Or grab my hair. I’ll stop.”

Grab my hair? If she did that, she wouldn’t be thinking about the pain in her foot. With my head between her legs, the only thing she’d need to worry about was banging her skull against the mirror when I sent her into orbit.

But that’s not what I wanted. That was easy. I could find that in Austin. I wanted her. Sweet Taryn.

I touched the inflamed skin, and she flinched, gripping the lip of the counter.

“Baby, this is lead crystal.” Making small talk to distract her, I provided her with some useful knowledge. “The pieces aren’t that small, but they are sharp. I should be able to get them.”

“You went to rehab?”

Whoa, whiplash.

Blowing out a breath, I steadied my hand and gently extracted the first piece of glass. “Yeah.” Examining the shard like it was a map to the lost city of gold, I avoided her gaze and released the glass into the sink. The pebble clanked against the porcelain on its path to the drain.

“When?” She narrowed her gaze. “I haven’t seen you in six months.”

“Six months and thirteen days,” I said quietly.

“That’s how long you’ve been clean?” She crossed her arms over her chest in a manner I’m sure she thought was menacing. If she weren’t drunk, she could do the math. Or maybe it wasn’t that important to her.

“Nope.” Looking up, I rubbed my thumb in circles on her instep. “That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. Six months and thirteen days.”

Giving her the exact number of days might freak her out, but I knew them. Missing Taryn became my vocation after I got out of rehab. She was more addictive than Oxy, I’d realized. It took all my newly acquired willpower to stay away until I completed aftercare.

I went back to work on her foot, allowing her to lead the conversation. I’d tell her anything she wanted to know, but I wasn’t volunteering. This shit was heavy enough, and she’d obviously moved on. Or more likely, she’d taken Beckett back. Guilt settled heavy on my shoulders for any part I’d played in that.

But that was why I was here, wasn’t it? Step number nine in the recovery process—make amends to those you’ve hurt.

Taryn broke the silence. “Is Laurel here with you?” The question took me aback, and the tweezers slipped, causing me to go a little deeper than I expected. “Ouch! Damn it, Chase!”

In case I didn’t get the picture when she howled, Taryn grabbed my hair for good measure.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I rubbed the outside of her thigh soothingly. “There are only a couple more pieces.”

“Answer my question,” she snapped. “Is your girlfriend here with you?”

My girlfriend?

The depth of my lie hit me in the chest. Taryn believed I chose Laurel, when all I wanted her to believe was that I’d cheated. That I was an asshole. Like Beckett.

Mistaking my introspection as an affirmation, Taryn wiggled to the end of the counter. “Get out!” She was poised to jump, regardless of the injury. I guess the pain of hearing whatever she thought I’d say was worse. “Out!” She pointed at the door, steely determination flashing in her blue eyes.

God, I missed those eyes.

Sliding my palms up her thighs to hold her in place, I locked our gazes. “I haven’t seen Laurel since the day before you left my loft.” I slid my arms to her back while I stayed on my knees. Appropriate, since I was begging her to believe me. To forgive me. “She’s not my girlfriend, baby. She never was.”

Taryn blinked at me impassively. “That’s right, you don’t do girlfriends.” Her lips tilted into a bitter smile. “I guess Laurel wanted more. Maybe she wasn’t such a ‘fun girl’ after all, huh?”

I weighed my options. In this case, discretion was definitely not the better part of valor. I needed Taryn to understand.

“Laurel’s an addict, like me. She’s in rehab now, thanks to Logan.” I rubbed small circles on her lower back to calm her. Or myself. “I left you at the river that day because she was fucked up. But I never even kissed her.”

Confusion clouded Taryn’s features as she cocked her head. “I don’t … you said …” She licked her lips, and my gaze drifted to her mouth. Anything to avoid the hurt in her eyes. “Why would you say that?”

My chest constricted, stealing my air so I could keep the ugly truth bottled inside.

You’re as sick as your secrets.

The mantra played in a loop in the back of my head, spurring me on.

“Because I wanted you gone. And I knew that was the way to do it.”

I delivered the harsh truth with as much sensitivity as I could muster given the circumstances. But it didn’t help. Tears spilled onto her cheeks in a rush, shredding me.

“You could have just told me to leave,” she said. “I wouldn’t have, like, stalked you or anything.”

The notion was so absurd I laughed. “I should be so lucky.” I caught a fallen tear, rubbing it between my fingers as I looked down. “When you came … after that thing with my dad … and you comforted me, without knowing what happened. I knew a part of you trusted me.” I shook my head ruefully. “And I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t let you see—”

“See what?”

“Me.” Falling back onto my haunches, a shuddering breath escaped. “All of me. The train had left the station, and I didn’t want to drag you along for the ride.”

The truth dawned on Taryn’s beautiful face like a ray of sun piercing the fog. “You were doing drugs when we were together?” Her eyes widened, panic rippling from the pupils. “What drugs do you do? How long have you been doing them?”

She barraged me with so many questions, I covered her hand to stop the flow so I wouldn’t miss one.

“I started doing drugs when I was a kid, but I’d been clean for over ten years. I went to rehab when I was eighteen.” I smiled. “And, no, I wasn’t doing drugs when I was with you. But I was drinking too much. Not really my thing, but …”

My words trailed off as I battled with the inner voice urging me not to make excuses. Anything could become my thing. And Taryn needed to know that. In the silence her thumb caressed mine. I wasn’t sure she was aware, so I stayed still so she wouldn’t stop.

There was healing in Taryn’s touch, a quiet contentment I’d only known with drugs. I’d felt that peace when we were together, but it scared me, giving so much control to another person.

“What is your thing, Chase?”

With the moment of truth upon me, I needed a distraction, so I took her foot. “Oxy. Sometimes coke. A little speed.” I examined the dried blood and then picked up the tweezers, shooting her a small smile. “I’m a poly, baby. So it depends on what I can get my hands on.”

Her brow furrowed as she appraised me. “Who’s Polly?”

I took the opportunity to extract the last piece of glass. She barely shuddered.

“Not who.” I sighed. “Poly means polydrug user. If I can swallow it, snort it, smoke it—” I tried not to flinch, “—or shoot it, I’m in. I used to do heroin. But not for a long time. I … I didn’t use any needles this time.”

Unfazed by the confession, she tipped her chin. “How many times have you relapsed?”

“After my first stint in rehab? Just the once.” I got up, then shook the cramp out of my leg on my way to the sink. I felt her eyes on me as I cleaned her wound. Applying gentle pressure, I smiled when she didn’t stir. “How’s that feel?”

Since she was unresponsive, I massaged her instep and waited. I’d stay as long as she let me.

“It’s good,” she finally said. “Just sore. Are you going to … cover it? I hate the sight of blood.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore. But I’ll stick a Band-Aid on it. Just make sure you change it every day.”

She surveyed her foot skeptically. “I … I hate bandages,” she stammered. “I almost passed out every time they would come to the room to change Tori’s dressing after the accident. All those open wounds.” Her eyes widened. “How open is it?”

“It’s just a cut.” I opened the Band-Aid while she looked anywhere but at me. She jerked when I brushed my lips to the inflamed skin. “Just a kiss to make it better.” I’d never felt so exposed. I quickly dressed the gash with ointment and pressed the adhesive in place, then stepped back.

“If it bothers you that much, have Beckett change it for you tomorrow,” I said as I gathered the supplies. “It might bleed a little if you’re walking on it.”

“Yeah, no.” She snorted. “Beckett won’t be helping me.”

I shrugged as I placed the antiseptic under the sink. “Okay.”

“We’re not together, you know.”

My focus shifted to all of the little items Beckett had strewn around her space. “Okay.”

Easing herself onto the floor, she hopped on one foot. “You don’t believe me?”

“‘Course I do.” I rose to my full height and looked down at her. “Y’all are just friends. That’s the tag line, right?”

Maybe they weren’t together, but Beckett was here. Providing her comfort, even if it was only physical. My fingers curled into fists at my sides to keep from doing something stupid. Like kissing her. Or stripping her. Or kissing her before I stripped her.

She rolled her eyes, releasing a chuff of air as she hobbled toward the bedroom. When she grabbed the side of the tub for support, I swooped in and pulled her to my side to take the weight off her foot.

She looked up, chin quivering. “Beckett is my friend.” She sniffed. “The only person who’s been here for me since I moved. But there’s nothing between us.” She laughed without humor, her shoulders sagging. “Nothing but you, that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you a long time ago, Chase, I’m not a friends with benefits kind of girl.” She looked away as if it was a bad thing. “I can’t use one body to replace another. Beckett and I … we don’t … we’re not together like that.”

“Do you think about me, baby?”

Say yes. Please, say yes.

“Yes.”

She looked pained at the admission, but all I heard was “yes.” Cupping her cheek, I pressed a tentative kiss to her lips. Her mouth fell open, maybe to protest, but I dove in before she had the chance, seeking her velvety tongue.

She deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around my neck. Breathless, she pulled away, her hand on the hem of her T-shirt.

I caught her wrist. “Not so fast.” Scooping her up, I pulled her leg to my hip. “I want to undress you.”

“I just didn’t want to get sand in my sheets,” she said, looking up at me as I walked us toward the bed. “It’s like living in a tent on the Guadeloupe. There’s sand everywhere.”

I could live with her in a tent on the Guadeloupe. Or my beach house. Her loft. “Everywhere?”

“Uh-hum.” Her lips brushed my neck.

As I eased her to her feet, I took her T-shirt along for the ride, slipping it over her head. Soft, creamy flesh spilled from the cups of her plain white bra.

Her arms flew to her chest to cover the tattered lace. “I … um … I didn’t expect …”

Pulling her against me, I smiled down at her while I fumbled with the two small hooks at her back. “This is the sexiest bra I’ve ever seen.”

A smirk lifted her lips as I slid the cotton straps down her shoulders. “Nice try.”

Her arms were still crossed over her chest, though I’m not sure she was aware, so I sank to the side of the bed to unlace my boots. “Totally true.” Sliding my hands to her hips, I pulled her between my legs. “Of course, I’ve never gone six months without sex.” I popped the button on her loose cutoffs. “Since I started having sex, that is.”

“Six months?” she squeaked.

I tugged the little shorts over her hips. “Six months and thirteen days.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, confusion creasing her brow. “You didn’t …”

“Couldn’t,” I corrected as I cupped her breast, circling her taut nipple with the pad of my thumb. “There’s a difference.”

“Why?” She eyed me with concern as I eased her onto the rumpled sheet. “Is that one of your restrictions?” Are you not supposed to … you know …?”

I chuckled as I settled on top of her. “No.” I brushed a kiss to her parted lips. “I’m not that kind of addict.”

The statement was as much the truth as it was a lie. I wasn’t a sex addict, but I craved Taryn with an intensity that matched any I’d ever felt. It scared me so bad, I actually talked to my counselor about it. Embarrassing as fuck.

“Then why?”

I pressed my forehead to hers, apprehension knotting my insides. “Because I love you.” The words escaped the prison where I’d kept them locked away. “And using someone else when it’s you I’m thinking of, well, that’s not healthy.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, but not the joyous ones I’d hoped for. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

I pushed the hair out of her face to look into her eyes. “I didn’t say it for you to say it back.” I smiled despite my disappointment at her reaction. “I said it because it’s the truth, and I own it. Even if you don’t feel the same right now, it doesn’t change how I feel. I just want a chance, baby. We can start over, and I can prove—”

“No, we can’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight. “You live in Austin. Your business is in Austin.” Her face crumbled. “I live here now. My company is here. I’m not going back.”

I rolled off her, the force of the blow stealing my breath. Scooting to the head of the bed, I regrouped and then pulled her into my arms. “That’s what planes are for.” Wiping her tears, I finally gave up when there were too many to wick away. “We don’t have to think about all of this today. We’ll take it slow.”

Before I could finish, she was shaking her head furiously, determination tightening her jaw.

“It doesn’t work,” she croaked. “Long distance relationships, they don’t work. Separations … they don’t work. I can’t even think about doing that again.”

Again …

I welded my back teeth together to steady my tone. “You wouldn’t be doing anything again. Because we’ve never even tried.” My attention turned to the infinity tattoo on her finger. The broken promise from the asshat she still allowed to wander freely in her life. “I’m not Beckett. Don’t compare us.”

“No, you’re not.” She narrowed her eyes. “Beckett would never go six months without speaking to me. He would never check himself into rehab without telling me. And he would never let me believe he slept with someone if he didn’t.”

All of that was probably true. But the fact she refused to see all the things he did do? Yeah, that was more than I could take.

“Beckett doesn’t have to lie to you about sleeping with other women, Taryn.” It took effort, but I softened my tone. “He only has to worry about begging forgiveness after the fact.”

“That’s why I’m not with him anymore,” she said softly. “We’re just friends.”

I glanced over all the items in the room that bore his fingerprint. The guitar in the corner. The T-shirt thrown haphazardly over the arm of the sofa.

“Friends?” Tipping her chin gently with my thumb, I searched her eyes. “Like we were friends?”

“No.” She swallowed hard. “You and I were never friends.”

Her blue irises frosted, and she slid off my lap. She didn’t retreat, though. She knelt at my side, determined to finish this. So I obliged.

“What are we then?” I caressed her thigh, drawn to her silky skin even now.

Tears streaked her face. “I don’t know.”

I nodded. Because I didn’t know either. Taryn didn’t want me … want us … so there was nothing left to say. Pain shot through my fingertips, still brushing her thigh. I pulled away reflexively, but she stopped me, her palm pressing against my chest. I shuddered when she climbed on top of me, molding her legs to my sides. Her moist heat warmed me through my jeans. Though I knew I shouldn’t, that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas, I rolled her over.

Pinning her to the mattress, I lowered my mouth to hers, stopping just short of her soft lips. “Is this what you want, Sweet Taryn?”

She nodded.

This wasn’t good for me. I’d spent months sewing the gash back together after the monster ripped open my insides. “Okay, baby.” The fragile stitches pulled tight as I lowered my forehead to hers. “Okay.”

Shoving to my feet, I glanced at her stricken face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yet.

I dug the condom from my wallet and tossed it on the bed. She watched me undress, then lifted her hips so I could slide her panties off.

“Chase …?”

I kissed her stomach as I hitched her leg over my shoulder and settled between her thighs. “Yes?”

“I … I want you.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I really … I do … I want …”

I prayed she’d stop and let this be what it was. A sweet goodbye. “I can see that.” I kissed her thigh. “What else do you want?” I found her pulsing center and my tongue darted out to trace her swollen nub. “This?”

She moaned, so I slid two fingers inside her sweet pussy and pumped slowly. I coaxed her to the edge, teasing her with my tongue until she writhed in pleasure. Gripping my cock to relieve some of the pent-up tension when she shattered, I continued the relentless assault on her clit, even as her legs quaked.

“Oh, God … no more … I … I can’t.”

I turned my hand to give her a different angle. “One more time, baby.”

Even if she willed her brain to leave me behind, her body would remember. When she broke again, I tore myself away, and kissed my way to her mouth.

“I’m sorry … I’m sorry that I can’t …” she stammered, the conflict in her eyes strangling any thoughts she wanted to convey. “That we can’t …”

I brushed a kiss to her lips. “Just hold me, baby.”

Tears trailed into her hair as she wrapped her arms around me. I whispered her name as I pushed inside her warmth, setting a slow rhythm that would last and last.

My mind wandered to places it shouldn’t. Tomorrows that we’d never have.

Riding out another wave of pleasure, her head thrashed from side to side as she mumbled softly. “Love me … Chase … please … love me …”

The ache inside spread through my limbs. “I do.”

Her eyes fluttered open. “You do what?”

I smiled. “It doesn’t matter.”

Anguished by her hidden thoughts, buried so deep she couldn’t even acknowledge them, I pressed my mouth to hers, thrusting deeper. To the end of her. The end of us.

When I finally let go, spiraling down to meet her, there was no regret. The love was stronger, by far. And that’s what I’d carry with me.