Page 85 of Pas de Trois
I blink up at him and it’s hard to see him clearly with the gloss of tears clouding my vision. “The thought of losing you, of living this life alone without you…it’s the most frightening thing I can think of.”
He bends and kisses my forehead before clutching me in his arms. I feel him shake. I feel the heaving of his chest as he cries, though he tries to hide it from me, muffling the sounds with his face nuzzled into the side of my neck. It threatens to shatter my aching heart, but I find my strength in his sadness, too. He’s been strong for me so many times before and I want to give him this, give him my strength so he can fall apart here with me.
For the moment, we’re safe.
Safe and together—a rare, precious moment for us to find in this world.
A minute or so passes before I quietly ask, “What happened with Renata?”
His body goes rigid. He pulls back and slips from my grasp. “I need a shower.” He spins away, heading for the attached bathroom through the open door behind us.
I follow him but stop in the doorway. He marches straight toward the glass-enclosed shower, pulls open the door, and steps inside, still in his underwear. He closes the door shut behind him and my breath catches in my chest at the immediate separation he creates between us.
I move forward—stopping in front of the glass door—and watch as he rips off his boxer briefs, turns on the water, and dips his head under the flow. The rope still wrapped around his wrist looks heavy the way it hangs as he lifts his palms to press against the tile in front of him. He looks so troubled, so conflicted, but worst of all, distant.
I can’t stand it.
I can’t stand to have a barrier between us after what just happened. When Lorenzo pulled the trigger on him, I thought I’d lost him forever. I don’t even have words to describe the kind of primal, raw pain that tore through my soul as I stood by watching helplessly.
No.
No separation between us.
I kick off my shoes, tear open the glass door, and step inside the shower before he can protest.
I slip between him and the tiled wall where the waterfall spills down on me and soaks my dress. I flinch and tense up as the water rolls down my back—just as I always do anytime water touches me now—but I force my bravery for him because he needs me. I would jump into the ocean to save him if he were drowning.
“Don’t shut me out,” I tell him.
“Anya—”
“Don’t. I don’t know what she did to you. I don’t know how she hurt you. But you can’t avoid me. You can’t. I need you to need me.”
He stares down at me, his eyebrows slanting toward his nose as his eyes burn me with his mystical green flames. His voice is gruff and quiet and haunting. “She fucked me and made me come inside her and I’ve never felt so…”
Oh, God.
I don’t know why that shocks me, but it does. I fall back, leaning against the wall behind me for support as I look up at him with the truest empathy.
I know what he feels.
I know there are no words fitting enough to describe it.
“Do you hate me?” he whispers with a tilt of his head.
“I love you.” I can’t get the words out fast enough. “Ezra, I love you, always. I’m so sorry.”
He shakes his head, stepping in close, taking my face in his hands and pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Yes, you do. You earned me. You’re mine. Mine. Not hers.”
His hands slip down the sides of my neck, grazing my skin and landing on my shoulders. “Yours,” he says, though it lacks conviction.
Does he feel unworthy?
“Say it again but mean it this time.”
He sighs. “I want to be yours.”
