Hearing her say that made a spasm of pain slice through me, and Brooke saw it, putting her hands on my shoulders and pulling me in for a tight hug. “But, that right there, honey. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” She jostled me lightly. “You can’t keep punishing yourself because bad stuff happens.” She leaned back, eyes fierce as they held mine. “It’s wasting what Hayden gave up, what the others did, too. Because you have a life to live, and you need to make sure you don’t squander it away.”
I dropped my forehead to her shoulder, sighed.
“Iris is trying,” Brooke murmured. “She feels like shit because she hurt you, because she’s so used to being on the receiving end of someone hurting her that it’s tearing her to shreds.” She leaned back. “So, even if you think you two don’t have a future—which would be a fucking stupid thing to think, but I also know I can’t force you to make the right decision—she deserves to have the chance to apologize. I’m not saying you have to forgive her—”
“I already have.”
And I had.
I also just hadn’t realized it until that moment.
Because Brooke was right. I was running scared, terrified that I’d lose Iris, that I’d disappoint her, that I’d fail her, too, and because of it, I had grasped at the first thing I could use to push her away.
I glanced into the eyes of the girl I’d watched grow up and marveled for a second. “How did you get so smart, darlin’?” I asked, not bothering to disguise the wonder in my tone.
Her lips twitched. “I got really good at getting stupid, but someone”—she squeezed my shoulders—“someone set me straight a while back.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for returning the favor.”
“Does that mean you’re going to talk to her?”
I nodded. “Talk, beg. I think I have both in my future.”
She grinned then stifled a yawn and stood. “This is late, even for me.”
I got to my feet and walked her to the door, but when I pulled it open, I found Kace on my front porch, eating my fucking expensive ass pizza.
Glaring, I marched over to him, snatching the box out of his hands.
“It’s good,” he said, through a full mouth, completely unconcerned. “In case you were wondering.”
Huffing, I stomped back to my door.
“Enjoy,” Kace called.
I grunted.
“Bye,” Brooke called.
I smiled over at her, mouthed, “Thanks.” And then I went inside, locked my door, and flicked off the porch light. No more visitors.
Just me and my pizza.
And trying to figure out how I could possibly make up for what I’d done to Iris that week.
Knocking at my door woke me up.
By the bright sun shining through the uncovered windows, it was nearly noon, but it wasn’t like I’d been sleeping well—not thanks to my nighttime visitor and definitely not thanks to the fact that I’d stayed up for a long time after Brooke had gone, puzzling through my feelings and trying to figure out how to stop myself from running scared again.
Because if I was going to do this, if I was going to talk with Iris, explain to her what happened, then she needed to know that I wouldn’t do it again.
The knocking stopped and started again, not letting up for several minutes, and so with a groan, I dragged my sorry ass out from beneath the covers, even though it felt like I’d only gone to bed minutes before.
I stumbled across the floor, back stiff, though it was feeling better than it had in days. I felt better than I had in days.
Mostly, because Brooke had slapped some sense into me.
I stretched when I reached the bottom step, rolling my shoulders, tilting my head from side to side to ease the remaining stiffness in the muscles of my neck as I headed toward the door. If I hadn’t been so tired, I might have learned from my lesson the night before, might have looked and seen who was standing on the other side of that wooden panel, might have glimpsed the bright blond hair through the window at its top, the peaches and cream skin, or maybe even the striking blue-green eyes.
But I was stretching, taking in the fact that my body finally felt like mine again, that my mind had followed suit, and so I opened the door without any consideration of who stood on my porch.
Or the fact that I was only wearing a pair of low-hung basketball shorts.
“I’m sorry!” Iris said, her words coming fast and furious, almost like she thought this might be her one chance to get it all out, so she was doing it as rapidly as possible. “I was a jerk and insensitive, and I didn’t mean to make you feel small. I spent too long with someone who I allowed to make me feel like that, and I’m so ashamed that I made you feel that way.” She inhaled, exhaled rapidly. “And it’s my fault you hurt your back and couldn’t work. I made you run off, and I made you feel bad about yourself, and I-I’m a g-giant asshole!” Her arms came up, and I realized she held a platter with a cake on it. She thrust the tray in my direction. “It’s a nine-layer cake, and it’s for you, and I’m sorry, and I’m going to leave now—”
Maybe it was the fact that I was tired.
Maybe it was the sheer onslaught of her blurted-out words.
Maybe it was just Iris.
Because I’d never had a chance of keeping my distance, and just seeing her in front of me, seeing her so upset that she’d wounded me, made it clear that the decision I’d come to just a couple of hours before was the right one.
I snatched the cake out of her hands, plunked it on the table I kept there for my keys.
It barely fit, but I wasn’t thinking of that.
My mind was on Iris.
I needed her, needed her to know that this whole thing was my fault. “Darlin’—”
She launched herself into my arms, and I stumbled back, scrambling to keep hold of her while closing the door with one foot, flipping the lock and then letting my mouth come down onto hers. She opened immediately, tongue dancing with mine, lips softening, body melting as we kissed and kissed and kissed.
Finally, she pushed at my chest, and I pulled back, letting her have a moment to breathe. I was flying high on adrenaline and didn’t think I’d ever need to breathe again.
Then she grimaced and I remembered morning breath. As in, my mouth was probably rank with it. “Shit, darlin’. Let me brush my teeth.”
“What? No,” she said. “I’m trying to apologize.” Her fingers traced along the lines of his jaw. “Brent, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, darlin’. It’s my fault,” I said, trying to focus.
She shook her head. “No—”
I tugged her closer, slid my lips over her cheek, nipped at the corner of her mouth. Her tracing turned into stroking, fingers running over my pecs, and my mind fogged. Then she skimmed my nipples with her nails, making my cock pulse.
“It was my—” she began.
My hands fell to her waist, brought her pelvis flush against mine. Her breath caught, palms drifting down over my abs, fingertips slipping under the waistband of my shorts, and I felt the leash inside me snap. Without thinking of my back, I scooped her up into my arms, probably reversing my recovery by days, but not able to feel anything in that moment aside from her bare hands on my skin.