Page 138 of Wild Thing
He vigorously shook his head in disagreement. “No. This hasn’t been a mistake.”
My hands flew to my face in frustration.
“Is that what you’re telling yourself?” I dropped my hands and glared at him. “Does that help you sleep at night? Do you even know how demoralizing it was to sit in there and watch you play happy families with her, when twenty minutes before that you were telling me you loved me? Do you have any idea what that felt like for me?”
He inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. My words had hit their mark.
“You think the fact that you have a boyfriend hasn’t fucked with me?” He shot back. “You think I haven’t thought about his hands on you? Yours on his?”
“No, no, no, no,” I snapped, shaking my head. “Donotturn this around on me. I've been nothing but honest with you from the very start. And, yeah, I may have a boyfriend, but it’s not like I’m engaged to be fucking married!”
The words were heavy and damning. It was a defining moment.
“Dyl…” His voice was so faint it barely reached me. It trailed off like the last breath of someone who was dying. "I'm so fucking sorry."
“What was this past week to you?”
“Some of the best days of my life.”
Fuck. There it was. The thing he always did to me. He was an expert at reaching into my ribcage, grabbing hold of my heart, and squeezing it until I couldn’t breathe.
“Don’t say that,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “That’s not fair.”
“Why? This has been the best week of my life.”
“How many times, Brax?” I shook my head. “How many times will I let you break my heart?"
"Fuck, don't say that Dyl–"
"Because this past week…” I swallowed hard, fighting to keep it together. “I’ve spent it thinking that maybe we were supposed to be together. But all it’s done is remind me that you’ll always be that guy to me.”
His brows knitted together, confused. “What guy?”
“The one who fucked me up for life.”
It was a killshot.
"Jesus…" He ran both hands roughly through his hair. Loose strands fell across his face, but he didn’t bother brushing them away. “Fuck.”
This wasn’t just heavy; it was devastating. For both of us.
His eyes lifted to mine. He looked like he was struggling to process that he was the villain in this story.
“I don’t want to be that guy.”
“Well, you are.”
The words came out cold and final.
Without another look, I moved past him, descending the stairs swiftly, my dress swishing with each step.
I was nearly clear, nearly free of him, when I felt his hand wrap around my wrist, halting me mid-step.
Our positions had switched. Now he was the one standing two steps above me, forcing me to look up at him.
“I watched you walk away once,” he said, his voice determined. “I’m not going to do it again."
But I refused to let his words weaken me. I was done being the fool.
