Page 169 of The Ache That Stayed

The words hit like a slap. A tear slipped free before I could stop it. He saw it. And just like that—his grip loosened. His forehead dropped to mine, voice dropping an octave.

“I thought about it,” he admitted quietly. “What it would take. What it would fix.”

He took a deep breath in. “It wouldn’t fix anything.”

His thumb brushed the tear away before it fell further.

“I wouldn’t survive it,” he said against my lips.

The air stuttered out of me, uneven and fragile.

“Losing you,” he continued. “Becoming the man I would have to be to do it.”

His forehead rested briefly against mine, his breath steady, controlled—as though he was holding back. His hand tightened at my jaw, just enough to tilt my face toward his—and then his mouth was on mine. Not gentle. Not careful.

The kiss hit me like an impact—deep, consuming, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. It wasn’t tentative, wasn’t testing. It was knowing. Claiming. Like he was reminding both of us that whatever had happened, I was still his.

My hands found his shirt, gripping. He didn’t slow down.

If anything, he deepened it, tongue claiming, swiping against mine, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us, until the world narrowed to nothing but him.

His breath. His hands. The way he held me like I wasn’t something fragile—but someone he had already chosen, never to let go.

My body responded to him, leaning into him, giving in to the familiarity of it, the heat, the pull, the way he always made everything else disappear.

“I’m not leaving you,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice rough now. “Understand that.”

My breath broke. He trailed kisses from my jaw down to my neck.

“I choose you,” he said.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Just the truth.

“Even now,” he said. “Especially now.”

And that was what undid me. My lips found his again, instinctive this time, because I couldn’t not, because everything in me was pulling back toward him, toward the only place that had ever felt like home.

“Me too,” I gasped.

He paused and held his gaze with mine.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said.

For the first time, uncertainty entered his eyes. The shift was subtle—but I felt it.

“If you chose me…” he continued, his voice lower now, steadier, “then why did it happen?”

There was no accusation in it. That made it worse. Because it wasn’t anger. It was truth. I swallowed the lump in my throat before speaking.

“I did choose you,” I whispered. “I always do.”

I blew out a breath.

“But there are parts of me…” my voice faltered slightly, “that don’t feel whole.”

His expression didn’t change.

“I didn’t go looking for him,” I continued. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even understand it. But with him… it felt like something I had buried didn’t have to stay buried anymore.”