If God does exist, I’m convinced he hates me.

Not only for all the mistakes I’ve made in the past, but also because there’s no other explanation for why he’s stranded Ian in my living room, clad in only my giant pink sweatshirt and a towel.

Fuck my life.

I can’t send him home. His clothes are in my dryer, which is now dead, thanks to the powers that be. Why, when all I want is to be alone with my thoughts and inappropriate desires, does this happen?

I’ll tell you why.

Because God hates me.

I watch as Ian leans into the fireplace, arranging a small pile of logs he pulled from my back patio. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to cover them with a tarp; otherwise, we might have frozen to death in the safety of my own home.

When I bought the place, I found it quaint that a wood-burning fireplace was its only source of heat. But, now, as my fingers have already started to stiffen in the chill, I realize how stupid I was. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century. Things like a gas furnace should be a given.

Ian gets the fire started almost immediately though, sitting down cross-legged in front of it as it roars to life. He turns and smiles at me over his shoulder, patting the floor next to him. “Come sit. I promise I won’t bite.”

I choke on a breath, my thoughts returning to my earlier fantasy. I can’t say I would mind if he did bite.

I spin back into the kitchen, yanking open the microwave, and pull out the lukewarm mugs of cocoa. I hand him his when I reach him, taking a seat at least five feet away instead of the spot directly next to him where he indicated.

He doesn’t seem fazed though, taking a swig of the cocoa as I arrange myself.

Once I’m settled, I apologize for the crappy drink. “Sorry it’s not very hot. I’m sure we can find something to put over the flames if you want to heat it a little more.”

He smiles at me. “It’s perfect. I’ve always liked it a little better once it’s not scalding. Easier to drink.”

I take a gulp of mine, relishing in the silky smoothness of the chocolate. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a cup of cocoa, and as the liquid runs down my throat, I realize he’s right. It’s so much better when you don’t have to worry about scorching off all your taste buds.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the flames as we finish our drinks. When his mug is empty, he sets it on the hearth of the fireplace. He turns his face to mine and scoots himself a little bit closer.

I see a flash of something I can’t quite place in his eyes as he looks at me, and I swear, it looks as if he’s clenching his teeth.

Taking a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what’s to come, he speaks, “I know you don’t like to talk about yourself, Lexi. But it seems as if I might be stuck here for a bit. We’re going to need to do something to pass the time.”

A dozen scenarios flash through my mind—most of them definitely not PG—and my eyes fall to the floor before he can sense where my thoughts have traveled.

“So,” he continues, as if he didn’t even notice my indiscretion, “if you won’t talk about you, I think it’s about time you find out about me.”

His words surprise me. Not only because I’m not sure what made him suddenly want to tell me about himself, but also because it’s just now occurred to me that, despite how hard he’s tried to get to know me, I haven’t done the same. Sure, I know the basics—name, where he’s from, and…well, I guess that’s about it. I’ve spent so much time trying to keep myself guarded and closed off from him that I haven’t even thought to ask much about him.

And I suddenly want to know it all.

I nod, letting him know I want him to continue.

“My name is Ian Taggart.” It’s all he says, his voice serious and steady, as if this statement is supposed to mean something.

I shoot him a confused look. “I know…” I trail off, letting him know I’m not getting what he’s trying to say. I mean, I guess I didn’t know his last name. But what exactly does that have to do with anything?

“You haven’t heard of me?”

I shrug. “Should I have?”

He laughs. “No. Though I’d say you’re probably one of only a handful of people who don’t recognize my name.”

I raise my eyebrows. “You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t ya?” I tease.

He gives me a sad smile. “Until recently? Yeah, I did.”

I don’t like the upset look on his face, so I try to turn the conversation back around. “So then, tell me, Ian Taggart, who are you?”

“Ian Taggart, better known as Tag Taggart, shortstop for the Washington Rampage.”

I might not be a huge sports aficionado, but even I know who the Rampage is. I remember seeing all the headlines when they missed the playoffs this last season. Everyone said it was because of…

Wait.

“Tag Taggart. Not the same Tag Taggart who was accused of…” I cut myself off before I say the word aloud.

“One and the same,” he says, giving me a weary look.

I know I should be getting up and fleeing the room, considering I’m sitting mere feet away from an accused rapist. But…I know Ian…Tag. Whatever. I’ve spent countless hours with him over the past few weeks, most of the time alone, and not once has he ever made me feel uncomfortable. Okay, that’s not completely true. I was pretty damn uncomfortable a half hour ago when I was watching him towel off. But that was something else entirely.

So, even though I know I should be scared to be alone with a man who’s been accused of such a heinous act, I’m not. Because I know, even more than I know how guilty I am, that he’s innocent. There’s no way in hell he hurt that girl.

“I didn’t do it,” he says after I don’t speak for a few moments, his voice soft and pleading.

I realize he must think I’m scared. He doesn’t want me to run, to push him even further away than I already have.

I scoot toward him, closing the majority of the space left between us, and place my hand on his. “I know you didn’t.”

His eyes snap up to mine, shock evident in every line of his face. And, in the dim firelight, I can see how much just speaking about it seems to age him. There’s a hollowness under his eyes that wasn’t there only minutes ago. I hate seeing the smiling, happy man I’ve come to care for look so run-down.

And I realize then how true those words are. I didn’t want to admit it, but I do care about him. He’s shown me a different side of humanity that I didn’t even know existed. Someone who can accept you and be there for you, no matter what. And not because they have to—because they’re your sister, like Ella—but because he genuinely wants me around. Don’t ask me why. I’ve been nothing but horrible to him. But, for some reason, he sees something in me that has kept him coming back. And I’m suddenly incredibly grateful he has.

“How can you be so sure?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine.

I squeeze his hand, turning his palm over and lacing my fingers with his.

“Because, if there’s one thing you’ve shown me these past few weeks, it’s how good of a person you really are. There’s not a single part of me that doubts you for a minute. And, quite frankly, I’m surprised anybody did. They only need to be in your presence for five minutes to realize there’s no way you could ever do such a thing.”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple rising and falling with the effort. “Not everyone would agree with you. I haven’t always been the best guy.”

I shake my head, careful not to break eye contact. “I remember reading about your…personal life…in a few of the articles after the news first broke. They were quick to judge you on your extracurricular activities. But just because you enjoy sex doesn’t mean you’re a rapist, Ian. And fuck them for implying otherwise.”

He pulls my hand into his lap, his thumb tracing small circles around one of my knuckles. “I’d give anything to go back and live that night over again. To not drink quite so much. To not go back with Angela—that’s her name. She had such a magnetic pull to her. I couldn’t look away from her as she moved out there on the dance floor. I should’ve known nothing good could come from someone like that.”

A sharp pang of envy flashes through me as he talks about how he couldn’t take his eyes off another woman, but I squash it down before it has a chance to fully ignite. Ian is a professional baseball player, and if the stories are to be believed, he has been with hundreds of women. Of course he found them attractive. Now is not the time to act like a stupid, jealous girlfriend.

Besides, I can understand the feeling he’s describing all too well. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve wished I could go back to that night and not get in the car. How many times I’ve wished I’d stayed home that night instead of joining my friends for a drink. How many times I’ve wished I’d had the willpower to have one drink like everyone else instead of quickly falling victim to my vice. And the one I’ve wished most of all: that it was me who was injured in the accident instead of the mother and daughter who were simply on their way home, the little girl still in her pink leotard and skirt, her hair smoothed back in a perfect bun, her cheeks pinked with blush from her first ever dance recital.

I know how bad it feels to realize that one split-second decision completely altered not only your life, but also the lives of those around you. And I know the pain that comes with knowing you can never, ever do anything to change it.

I decide in that moment that I want Ian to know more of me. I want him to know how much I can relate to his words.

I turn my face away from his, my eyes falling to the floor as I speak, “A year and a half ago, I did something that changed my life forever. Something I’ve regretted with every fiber of my being since the day it happened. Something that, like you, I wish I could go back and do over. But, believe me when I say, no amount of wishing will ever make it go away. All you can do is move forward and hope to hell that, someday, you can be forgiven.”

Ian’s fingers trail along my cheek as his hand cups my chin, bringing my eyes back to his. The corners of his lips lift into the tiniest hint of a smile when our eyes lock. “You said, over the past few weeks, I’ve shown you the goodness inside me. But, Lexi, anything you might have seen in me pales in comparison to the light I see in you. You do a good job of trying to keep it hidden. I see the change in you when you realize you’re feeling something you don’t think you should be allowed to feel. It’s as if a switch flips, and then the light pouring out of you vanishes, plunging you into darkness. You don’t deserve to live in the dark, Lex. You shine brighter than the brightest star in the sky when you let yourself. It’s why I haven’t been able to stay away from you despite how hard you’ve tried to keep me away. You’re my sun, Lexi.”

I don’t think. I don’t let myself ponder his words or what they mean or how inaccurate they might be. I only act.

I lean forward and press my lips against his.