Page 200 of Break Away
His face changed.
Softened.
Broke a little.
“I think I forgave you before I knew how to survive forgiving you,” he said. “That’s why I was so angry. Forgiveness was already there, and I hated it. I hated that love kept reaching for you before my pride gave permission.”
The sound that left me wasn’t pretty.
Easton flinched toward me, then stopped again, his jaw tight with the effort.
I stepped into the space he refused to take.
His whole body went still.
“I love you,” I whispered.
His eyes closed for half a second, and when they opened, everything in them was ruined and alive.
“Say it again.”
“I love you, Easton.”
A rough breath left him.
I touched the front of his soaked hoodie with trembling fingers. The fabric was cold under my hand, his chest hot beneath it, his heart pounding hard enough for me to feel. “There is more to the story with Darian.”
“I know.”
“What I gave you was the CliffsNotes version.”
His hand lifted slowly, not touching me yet. “Okay.”
“I want to tell you all of it someday.” My voice shook hard, but I didn’t stop. “Not like that night in your apartment where we were already bleeding and angry and touching each other like we were trying to prove who could survive it worse. I want to be somewhere safe when I tell you my worst moment. I want to know you have my back and won’t look at me like I’m broken glass. I want you to see how hard I fought and not just what it did to me.”
His face folded with something so tender it scared me more than anger ever had.
“Aura,” he said.
I shook my head, tears slipping down my cheeks. “I need you to be proud of me for surviving it, not sorry for me.”
His hand finally touched me, careful at first, his fingertips brushing the side of my face like he was asking with skin. “I am proud of you.”
I broke.
He cupped my cheek fully then, his palm cold from the rain, his thumb catching tears under my eye.
“I am so fucking proud of you,” he said, voice wrecked. “I’m proud of the girl who walked through those halls with her head up. I’m proud of the woman who built herself out of ash and sharp edges and still somehow let me close. I’m proud of every rule that kept you alive long enough to stand in this kitchen and tell me what you need from me.”
I covered his wrist with my hand. “I don’t want pity.”
“You don’t have it.”
“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m fragile.”
“You’re not fragile.” His thumb moved over my cheek. “You’re terrifying.”
A laugh broke out of me, wet and shaky. “That was almost romantic.”
