Page 141 of The Rival's Obsession
“I was going to kiss you. I was going to say it—I even started. I said your name.”
He nods slowly. “You did.”
“But then my dad came out and called you inside.” I smile, bitter and aching. “And you turned around, still glowing, and said, ‘You’ll tell me when I get back?’”
His breath shudders. “You said?—”
“‘I will wait for you.’” I say it again now. Steady. Sure.
I rub the inside of my forearm where the ink lives—my one permanent truth. The moment I tattooed on my skin to never let myself forget.
“I found out that night my parents were sending me to the UK,” I say. “They didn’t tell me because they knew I wouldn’t go. They knew I wouldn’t leave you. My mother was worried I would put you before my future. The firm. So they sent me away.”
The ache breaks through in my voice. I let it.
It took me a long time to forgive them. But as soon as I got back and saw Grant that first time, I knew nothing had changed.
“I tattooed the day I left and my promise, right here.” I thumb the dark ink on my forearm.
I shift off the bed, drop down to one knee in front of him, and take his hands in mine.
He looks down at me like I’ve turned to light myself.
So I say what I should’ve said five years ago.
“Grant Harrow,” I breathe. “I love you.”
And then I give him everything.
“I’ve tried to burn it out of me. With other people. With time. With anger.” I laugh, quiet and broken. “God, I tried so fucking hard. But it never worked. Nothing erased you.”
He looks like he’s holding his breath. Like if he exhales, he might fall apart.
“You live in my ribs, Grant. You haunt my skin. You’re the voice in my head and the ache in my chest and the only thing that ever made me believe in something like fate.” I shake my head. “And it’s not just love. It’s ruin. I would burn down the world if it ever touched you wrong. I’d go to war with God himself if He asked me to live without you again.”
My voice drops, fierce and reverent.
“I would die for you. Gladly. But more than that—I’d live for you. Every day. I’d fight like hell to be the man you deserve, because loving you isn’t hard, Grant. Losing you was.”
He still hasn’t moved. So I lean in, press my forehead to his, and close my eyes.
“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much it makes me stupid. Makes me cruel. And if all you ever let me do is love you from here—if this is all we get—then it’s enough.”
Tears stream down his cheeks now. But he’s smiling through them.
“I don’t care what’s behind us. I just want whatever’s next. As long as it’s you.”
He doesn’t speak at first.
Just looks at me. Like he’s trying to memorize my face—or maybe find the pieces of himself I shattered five years ago. His lips part, but no sound comes. His throat works like the words are there—just stuck in grief or fear or disbelief.
And then, softly—barely more than breath—he says, “I tried to stop too.”
That’s it. Five little words, but I feel them like they’re carved into my spine.
He’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking down, fingers twisting together in his lap, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he says too much too fast.
“I tried to stop loving you too,” he continues. “Tried to hate you. Tried to replace you.”
