Page 124 of Beautiful When He Breaks

“Bullshit,” I say softly. My fingers stay over the tattoo, feeling his heartbeat underneath. “Jules.”

His eyes flick back to mine, and the color in his cheeks deepens in a way that makes my chest ache. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s over your heart.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not stupid.”

“Baby.”

He exhales, then laughs once under his breath, rough and embarrassed and so unlike the version of him everyone else thinks they know. His hand comes up and covers mine where it rests on his chest, but he doesn’t move me away. He holds me there.

“That’s how I met the love of my life,” he says quietly.

The room seems to pull back around us—the dim light, the messy sheets, the heat between our bodies—all of it narrowing to his hand over mine and the tattoo beneath my fingertips.

“You…” My voice catches, so I start again, softer. “You got a tattoo for that?”

Julian’s mouth curves, but he still looks shy, which is devastating in a way I do not have the emotional equipment to survive. “You walked up to me in kindergarten, pointed at my rugby ball, and told me it was a funny-looking football.”

A laugh escapes me at the memory. “It was a funny-looking football.”

“It was a rugby ball,” he says, offended even now, which almost makes me kiss him and also maybe bite him.

I shrug. “I only knew football.”

The humor in his face softens into a look that makes my chest feel too small. “Yeah,” he says. “And I knew you.”

My fingers press more firmly over the tattoo, right above his heartbeat. “How long have you had it?”

Julian swallows. “Since freshman year.”

My stomach drops in the softest, worst way. “College freshman?”

He shakes his head.

“Jules,” I whisper. I already knew he’s loved me for a long time, but this… just hurts knowing how oblivious I was.

“It wasn’t supposed to be obvious.” His thumb moves over the back of my hand, and his gaze drops there instead of staying on my face. “I told myself it was about home. About where I came from and where I ended up. Rugby and football. South Africa and here. All that symbolic bullshit tattoo artists love.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t hide the tremor underneath. “But it was you. It was always you. I think I just needed to put it somewhere I could keep it when I didn’t think I’d ever get to say it.”

The ache in my throat becomes painful.

I stare down at the tattoo. Years. He’s had me over his heart for years. While I dated Celeste and pushed him away. While he warned me and I wouldn’t listen. While he disappeared into his own hell with Blakely because some part of him believed the thing he actually wanted was already gone.

I bend before I know I’m going to.

Julian’s breath catches when my mouth touches the tattoo. I kiss the rugby ball first, then the football, then the warm skin over his heart, and the hand he has over mine tightens. I don’t make it quick. I press my lips there again, slower, letting the kiss say all the things I can’t get out without my voice failing.

I’m sorry. I see it now. I see you. I see us. I’m here.

When I lift my head, Julian’s eyes are bright. “Don’t look at me like you’re about to apologize for not knowing.”

I hate that he knows me that well. I hate it and love it and want to crawl inside the safety of it. “I should’ve noticed.”

“You weren’t supposed to.”

“It was on your chest.”

“It was hidden in a mess of other tattoos.”