All I keep thinking about is Hally implying I wasn’t a bad guy until I left her. You do stupid shit when you blame yourself and you’re convinced you aren’t worth a damn thing.

I think I wanted to get caught. I wanted to go to jail like the criminal I was. It made it easier to forgive myself for leaving her the way I did.

Fuck, some nights, I prayed that she’d tell someone so it could all just end. But she never did. That was the worst torture of them all.

Everyone around me, walking through the hall of dressing rooms, must know I’m pissed and I don’t care. My hands are shoved in my pockets, suit pants for the scene I just did, and the tie is loose around my neck. I pace back and forth outside of her room just waiting for her agent to get out.

The oxford shoes I got from the set smack the floor as I walk, ignoring how everyone passes by me, each of them tearing their stare away from me as I look up from watching my feet hit the ground. Smack, smack, smack. The steps are only dulled by the concrete floor.

I’m sure Nancy is telling her that she needs to go into an interview more prepared than she was. Maybe it’s Nancy’s fault. She should have prepared her.

What’s done is done, but the information she gave Margo is going to give me a fucking PR nightmare. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I check the name.

Mark.

To hell with that, I’m not taking it. There’s only one person I want to talk to about that interview.

The sound of her door opening stops my feet right where they are and I turn to see Nancy taking a step down from the makeshift dressing room and easily closing the door behind her. She sees me when she lifts her head, simultaneously searching for something in her oversized bag. She gives me a smile as if everything’s just fine and says, “Mr. Hart.”

I watch her leave, knowing there’s more going on behind the scenes and very much aware that she’s a better actress than I gave her credit for.

I don’t knock and I don’t ask to come in, I barge in and catch Hally by surprise. She jumps at her seat on the vanity, putting a hand to her heart as I close the door behind me.

“Nathan,” she says with bit of shock in her voice, but she doesn’t look me in the eyes.

“What were you thinking?” I ask her, letting the anger out little by little, like the edge of an over-boiled pot of water, climbing higher and higher until it’s spilling and uncontainable.

“Excuse me?” she says with indignation.

“You made me look like an asshole,” I tell her.

“I only told the truth,” she says and narrows her eyes to watch me stalk closer to her. She’s defensive right off the bat, ready to fight. Maybe it’s a bad habit, maybe she really doesn’t think there’s a damn thing wrong with the impression she gave the papers.

“Is that what you want? You want them to hate me? Is this your way of getting back at me?” I ask her and it hurts to say it. I wouldn’t blame her if she was trying to punish me for leaving her. What I did was wrong. There’s no denying that.

“What was I supposed to do?” she asks as if it was all an innocent accident.

“Easy,” I tell her as I grip the vanity and lean over her, “You keep talking, don’t acknowledge the question.” I’m very aware of how intimidating I may look right now. If someone came in, they’d see I’m angry, hovering over her. But I don’t care. I want to protect her, and us and what we had. And she’s destroying any chance at that by being stupid.

“Maybe that works for you and your asshole persona but that wouldn’t work for me,” she practically spits at me. “I don’t hide behind a smirk and bullshit.”

“Is that what I do?” I ask her and cock a brow.

“You act like you’re some hotshot who’s made it and doesn’t have to deal with the shit problems he creates and then gets mad when they come back and you finally have to deal with them.” Her voice escalates as she talks. Filling with more and more emotion.

“Go ahead and get it all off your chest,” I tell her, egging her on when I know I shouldn’t. “Tell me what you really think,” I sneer.

“You left me because you were a coward,” she sneers at me and then seems to realize what she said. She instantly backs down as she steadies her breathing, her shoulders rising and falling. She doesn’t look me in the eyes.

If I was a lesser man, I’d flinch from the venom in her tone.

“Is that really what you think of me?” I ask her, but I don’t wait for an answer. She just said it to hurt me.

This is why we don’t work together.

We push each other further and further just because we can. Driving each other into a darkness we’re desperate to be pulled out of. The worst part is that we each want the other to save us, yet we’re so damn willing to shove each other further and further into the abyss.

The realization takes the edge from my anger and I push from the desk, turning my back to her and running my hands through my hair as I stare at the ceiling. We were toxic for each other back then. This is toxic.

“Don’t turn your back on me,” Hally says with feigned strength and anger, but the underlying emotion is fear. Fear of loss.

“I don’t deserve this, Nathan,” she says and again, the anger has waned substantially, leaving the vulnerability left in its place.

She’s afraid I’ll leave, but that’s never fucking happening again. I can deal with the anger. I’ll take it out on her a different way.

She grips my elbow and pulls me to face her and I let her. Staring down at her and containing everything I feel in this moment all I can do is tell her, “You put a target on our past, you know that don’t you? You put a target on me and my background.”

My voice is low and even and she wasn’t expecting it.

“I didn’t,” her voice croaks and she swallows instead of finishing.

“You did,” I tell her as my anger raises, she’s smart enough to know better. I won’t let her lie to me.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says back as she stares at me with contempt. “I didn’t mean to, Nathan,” she repeats and tries to calm herself down. She’s a whirlwind of emotion, chaotic and unsure of herself. That’s the Hally I know.

“I know you didn’t,” I tell her easily and it snaps her out of wherever she was in her head. I want to admonish her, tell her what she should have done and how she’s better than that, but it’s not what she needs. Not right now as her eyes get glassy with tears.

I don’t hesitate, I wrap my arms around her small body and pull her into me. Her fight is gone, and it’s my fault.

It’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my chest and then slowly, ever so slowly, wraps her hands around my waist and rests her head against my chest. Why does it feel so good to hold her close and know that my touch can soothe her?

It’s not fair. We’re set up to fail.

“Forgive me?” she asks weakly, and I can’t take it. I’m the one who needs to be forgiven. I reach up and brush my fingers along her throat before cupping her chin in my hand.

My thumb brushes along her bottom lip as I let the words fade in the space between us. I’m the one who needs to be forgiven. For everything.

I’m slow as I lower my lips to hers, but she’s quicker, desperate. And I love it. I love her when she does this. When she acts like she needs me more than she does her next breath.

“Lie down,” I whisper against her lips, and she falls easily onto the bed, her hands still in my hair and her thighs parting for me. The heat crackles between us.

I watch as her eyes close and her lips part just slightly, her chest rising and falling in a frantic rhythm. This is how she’s always given herself to me, with everything she has and full of vulnerability.

She’s perfect.

I leave an open-mouthed kiss on her throat, feeling her body move beneath me, pushing against me and wanting more. My hands move of their own accord, knowing every inch as if she’d never left as if she’s always belonged to me.

I unbutton her blouse slowly, my deft fingers slipping the buttons free one by one. Her hands trace along my knuckles as I do, her eyes glancing between my heated gaze and where my hands travel, slowly inching lower and lower. Her skin is soft and warm against my hands as I push the shirt aside and plant a small kiss and then another, lower and lower.

She writhes under me, arching her back and squirming and it makes me smile against her stomach.

“Nathan,” she pleads with me, her neck bowed as her nails dig into my shoulders. It cracks my composure. I can try to do slow with Hally. Every chance in the past, I tried. But it’s still impossible.

I’m quick to pull her leggings and then my shirt off, not caring when I hear the tell-tale sign of a button popping off from being too reckless. It doesn’t matter, I’ll be reckless so long as I can have her.

Her hands travel to her inner thighs and she whimpers with need. I love that sound; I’ve missed it more than I ever knew.

“Spread your legs wider,” I tell her in a deep rough voice, one I hardly recognize and it takes me back to when we were younger. When I felt like she was mine in every way.

Her eyes slowly open, pale blue and crystal clear and piercing through me as I unzip my pants and push them down, quickly stroking my hard cock.

It’s the little things she does that drives me crazy. Like how she stares at my length and licks her lips. I rub the bead of pre-cum over the tip of my dick and stroke myself again, wanting so badly to tell her to lick it off, but I’m too desperate to be inside her.

I need her more than anything.

Hovering over her, and bracing a forearm by her head, I move my cock between her slick folds, my head brushing against her opening and then up to her swollen nub.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” I whisper in a calm voice. How? I don’t know.

The moment she looks back at me, intent on answering, I slam all the way into her. I keep my eyes on her, watching how her mouth hangs open and a silent strangled scream accompanies her pussy spasming around my dick.

I want to keep my eyes on her, to watch every movement and worship every small touch and desperate scratch she gives me, but I can’t. It feels too good. I close my eyes and groan as I pull out quickly and then slam myself all the way back in, buried to the hilt and desperate for more, but afraid it will be over before I’m ready. I don’t give her tight walls any time to accommodate me, I can’t. I need her just like this. Rough and raw and completely at my mercy.

“Nathan,” she breathes my name frantically, her walls tightening even more and making each thrust bring me closer and closer to cumming.

My toes curl and I pound into her over and over again, the small bed knocking against the wall each time. Her heels dig into my ass as she moans the sweetest noises, climbing higher and higher.

My balls are already drawing up, ready to spill myself deep inside of her. I reach between us, pressing hard against her clit and pinning her down as she tries to move away from the intense pleasure.

I don’t let up on either the strumming of her clit or the steady ruthlessness of each hard stroke, filling her completely.

“Nathan!” she screams my name, her eyes wide open and staring straight at me as she cums on my dick. Yes!

I crash my lips against hers, silencing her and continuing my unforgiving rhythm, riding through the intensity of her orgasm.

I need more. More of her, of this, of us. I don’t want it to end, but as she lets out a strangled moan and then gently kisses the dip in my throat. It’s my undoing.

It only takes a few more strokes, each one harder and faster.

I slam into her one last time, burying my head in the crook of her neck as hot streams leave me and my dick pulses deep inside of her.

A thin sheet of cold sweat covers my body as I lift my head and kiss her once, then twice on the lips. Her fingers spearing through my hair and pulling me in for one more. Our hot breath mingles between us and it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve dreamed of for the last decade.

As both our breathing calms, she nestles herself into the crook of my arm and all it does is make me want more of her. So many years I’ve had to live without her in my bed. When she should have been here all along.

I kiss her hair, trying to remember what she told Margo. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be twisted just enough to be convincing and enticing and I can read all about it in the gossip columns and trashy magazines tomorrow.

All I know is that the one good thing I ever had when I was a kid, is now going to be slandered. I deserve it all anyway. In one way or another. She doesn’t though.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” she said, letting me know she’s thinking about it too.

I kiss her hair again and clear the tightness in my throat before telling her, “I know what you said in the interview wasn’t intentional. She baited you and you’re smarter than that, Hally.”

She tries to pull away from me and I give a little, only enough so that she grabs my forearms and look up at me. “I said I was sorry,” she tells me and then sniffles. “I’m sorry for what I said here too,” she admits and then stares straight at my chest. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Because I was a coward,” I tell her. I can admit it. I was afraid. I convinced myself that she needed to be away from me because I was terrified of destroying her. “I’m sorry,” I tell her

“I didn’t mean--,” she starts to tell me, but then stops short, not wanting to fight again or to bring it up. A habit of hers.

I could ask her which part. In here or in the interview. But I don’t want to know. I want it all to go away. The thing about letting your anger slip out in the form of words is that they can’t be taken back. All the hurt and pain inflicted will always be remembered.

And we’re both guilty of that.