Page 71 of Bronson

“It wasn’t your fault. He may have lost his chance to be a husband, a father, but that doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself, Bronson. You don’t have to resign yourself to the same fate. You had a job to do. A hard job. And you did it,” she says.

I twist the teacup in my hands. I’m holding it so hard, I’m afraid I’ll shatter the china.

Mary takes the cup from me. She puts her hands over mine. “You have to tell her. About your past. Then, I think you’ll find yourself feeling free to propose. From what you’ve told me, I’m getting the feeling Paige is waiting to live with you until she has a commitment. And if she’s drawn to the Bachman way, she probably doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, as the woman. She wants to be proposed to. Properly.”

The sick feeling sits in the pit of my stomach. “What if she doesn’t want me? When she finds out what I’ve done?”

“You only did what you had to. To protect the rest of us.”

Her words don’t make it any easier. The idea of Paige knowing who I truly am, what I’ve done. Who I’ve hurt. It makes my heart beat so hard I feel I can’t breathe. There’s a tightening in my chest. My throat is closing.

I manage to mutter a thank you to Mary. I leave.

Stepping out into the cold air, I can breathe once more.

Walking back to my house, my mind spins.

What if she hates me?

Fears me?

Leaves me?

I can take no more. The not knowing is worse than telling her. I reach my curb, signal my driver.

I will go to her.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m at the door of her house.

I don’t even remember the drive.

I climb from the car. Tell the driver to stay.

A pang runs through my chest. This might be the last time I’m welcome here.

With trembling fingers, I text Paige. I wait by the door at the side of the building. The one that leads to the stairwell where she told me she loves me. Then kissed me.

Where we’d fucked like animals.

I still feel her fingernails digging into my flesh.

Her face appears in the window.

She’s been asleep.

A moment later, the door opens.

Paige.

Her dark hair is tangled. She rubs at her eye with her balled-up fist.

My heart lunges into my throat.

Why does she have to be so Goddamn adorable?

“Bronson. What are you doing here so late?”

“Paige… I—I have to speak with you.”