Page 49 of Scarlet Wars
I cut him off sharply. “If you come up with some bullshit excuse about being busy, I swear I will scratch out your eyeballs, feed them to an Australian snake, wait for them to pass through its system, and then shove them back into your sockets.”
James blinked, his mouth parting slightly.
Okay, fine, maybe the threat was a bit much.
I let out a long, controlled breath, feeling some of the tension bleed out of me. Without a word, I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for him to do the same.
He exhaled audibly, relief washing over his face as he stepped inside and shut the door.
The bed dipped under his weight, but his focus never wavered. “You look stronger. Fiercer. You look good, Emma.”
Not going to lie, that felt good to hear. A small part of me, the part that still cared, warmed at the compliment. “Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself, which I’m sure you already know.”
He grinned, and despite myself, I felt my lips curve into a smile. For a brief moment, the weird atmosphere between us cracked, replaced by something warmer. But the ache in my chest and the anger coiling inside me wouldn’t let go.
“Can we please talk?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft. “About everything?”
“Well, I didn’t come here for sightseeing,” I muttered back, unable to hide the sarcasm.
My ex-boyfriend stilled, clearly unsure how to start, so I took a deep breath myself and decided to dive in headfirst.
“When I found out about Julian… About everything you knew and let him do to me, I was so angry with you.”
James didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush to defend himself, didn’t throw out half-truths or justifications to lessen the blow. He simply nodded, his attention on me.
I pushed to my feet, and started pacing, my hands gripping the edge of my sleeves, grounding myself in movement because sitting still seemed to suffocate me.
“Fleeing to Crown was the only way I could…” I shook my head. “I didn’t know how to handle my anger. It wasn’t just rage, it was?—”
I exhaled harshly, raking a hand through my hair. “My love for you wasn’t the first thing I felt anymore when I thought of you, and that was such a mindfuck.”
James inhaled through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. “I can’t blame you for that.”
I turned toward him, forcing myself to meet his gaze, refusing to let this be another conversation we half-finished before shoving it into a dark corner of our minds. “I need to know,” I said, quieter this time. “Why? Why did you lie to me for so long?”
James’s jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. For a long moment, he said nothing. When he finally spoke, the words were roughened by something that sounded dangerously close to regret.
“I wish I had a valid reason to give you.” His fingers rubbed against his temples before he dragged them through his hair. “I think when the Radicals attacked us with the Amplifier, and you almost died on me, everything felt so out of my control, I panicked and I did what I always do: I shut out everyone else, and kept it all in.”
“But we were finally in a good place,” I said softer than I intended.
James dropped his face into his hands. “I was out of my depth. My love for you, my position on the Council, the Radicals attacking Crown…and then Maurice died, and I just?—”
“Shut down,” I finished for him, the words thick with understanding.
He nodded, his hands falling away from his face, his green eyes clouded with something I wasn’t sure I had ever seen in him before. “I am so sorry.”
The sincerity in his voice cracked something inside me, something I hadn’t even realized was still raw.
For all the anger, all the frustration, all the nights spent trying to make sense of what he had done, the truth was simple: He had been overwhelmed. He had failed me, not out of malice, not out of cruelty, but out of fear.
And for the first time in a long time, I understood.
“I get it,” I murmured, as I sat down beside him, no longer filled with resentment, “and I forgive you.”
Hope flickered across his face with such intensity it was almost painful to look at. It was the kind of hope that clawed its way out of desperation, the kind that saw the smallest sliver of light and clung to it. And for a moment—a fleeting, gut wrenching moment—I hated myself for giving him even that much.
Because I had forgiven him, but my heart wasn’t ready to go back.
