Page 109 of Chasing Ruin
My mouth hangs open, brows twisting with a grief I can’t name. I try to shake my head but instead a throaty, horrifying whimper escapes me.
I have no words.
Finally, I manage a semblance of a shake, making her jerk back slightly in surprise. She adjusts herself on the couch and downs the wine before setting the glass on the coffee table.
“No?” She shrugs, shaking her head. “Okay then. Someone tells you I’m a traitor. You believe I’m a traitor.”
Fuck. No. I don’t like where she’s going with this.
She continues, ignoring the way my breathing has changed. “Now someone’s telling you you’re in love with me. You believe you’re in love with me. See what I’m saying?”
God! My feelings—my fucking love—just got reduced to a glaring pattern. A pattern I can’t even refute because it sounds accurate, doesn’t it?
“That’s not—” My throat closes up again, and I swallow hard. “That’s not why I…”
She studies me when I trail off. Her gaze scanning every single inch of my face before it drops to my hands when they clench against my knees.
A shift happens. It’s subtle, but I can see the softening of her eyes.
“Before I thought you betrayed the club,” I begin, voice rough. “My actions didn’t imply that you were a traitor in my eyes—not at all. I just saw you as Prez’s sister who, well… had a crush on me. A crush I didn’t entertain for years because you were young, Charlotte. Too young.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, and I think she’s catching up with my train of thought.
“Now, you could say I did what I did because of guilt or whatever,” I continue hesitantly. “But my actions before that fu—Mihai said what he said… would imply that it’s true. That my feelings are aligned with…those words.I won’t say them because I know you won’t believe them. But, baby, I do—I believe them.”
Her eyes flicker, blinking with slight panic. “Really?” Her voice shakes, eyes unfocused. “You believe them and yet you won’t confess? That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“Okay.” I nod to myself, my heart pounding painfully against my ribs. “Okay, I’ll confess, but…” I give her a sad smile. “I’m not trying to convince you, Charlotte. I’m just trying to love you.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Charlotte
‘I’m just trying to love you.’
The words scatter around my buzzed brain. And I find myself dissecting the truth behind them—if there is any.
How couldthisman, who once looked at me like I’d committed the most heinous act in the club’s eyes, ever come to believe in loving the same girl?
Of course, my innocence changed his perspective. But why is he adamant that his actions go beyond the regret and shame of what they did?
I think back to the day he stormed into my Craven Ridge apartment all those weeks ago. The way finding me unharmed was presumably an anchor for him.
What had changed in the last two years that he believed his feelings reached for love and not forgiveness?
My cheeks flush as I stared around my space. The coffee table, the rug, the fully-stocked kitchen. How do I even separate this from the clear act of guilt and not love?
How can I look at his tattoo not as a beautiful, haunting reminder of pain but of utter self-restraint?
Why does the heat of his gaze keep inching me closer to questions instead of erecting walls around my peace?
Why the hell does it seem like he’s mooring me to the shore while I’ve been adrift… healing?
Suddenly, my thoughts swerve.
Sarah.
I need more information about that. Why? I don’t know.
