Broken Juliet(8)

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but what exactly are you saying?”

He drops onto his back and closes his eyes. “Everything you said. All the criticism … You were right. I’ve been keeping you at a distance.”

“Why?”

When he pauses, I stroke his arm to urge him on. After a few seconds, he opens his eyes and gazes at the ceiling. “Do you know what my first thought was when I walked in and found you in my bed?”

“What?”

“That you’d read my journal.”

“But I didn’t. I swear—”

He turns to me. “I know. When I stopped and thought about it, I realized you wouldn’t do that. And yet, my first instinct was to think the worst of you, because that’s how I cope with … things. People. I’m always prepared for the worst, so when it happens, I won’t be surprised. Or disappointed. I figure, if I don’t really try, I can’t really fail, right? So that’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Ethan—” I put my hand on his shoulder, and he tenses.

He sits up. “I was angry with you last night, really f*cking angry, not because what you said was wrong, but because it was all true. You brought up all the things I hate about myself. Shit from my past that has no right affecting you but does.” He shakes his head. “I’m going to try harder. I know that sounds like bullshit, but it’s all I can do, right?”

I don’t know if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

“Try to do what?”

“Be … better.” He cups my face and kisses me. There’s an edge of desperation in the grip of his fingers, the way his eyes are still closed when he pulls back. “I can do this. Be the boyfriend you deserve.”

“I believe you.”

As I say it, I know I’m lying, but I do believe he’s going to try.




The next morning, I’m throwing the last of my books into my bag and shoving a piece of toast in my mouth when I hear a knock at my door.

I open it to see Ethan, smiling and holding out a cardboard cup.

“Dickachino?” I ask, concerned.

“No, just hot chocolate. Extra marshmallows.” He smirks and gives me a quick kiss.

He’s freshly shaven and wearing faded jeans and a blue sweater. For a moment, I can’t process him like this. Here. Attentive. Smiling. Not dressed all in black like the grim reaper.

Does not compute.

His smile drops. “What the f*ck is that look for? You’re staring at me like I’m a serial killer. The cocoa isn’t poisoned.”

Okay, that’s more familiar.

“It’s just, you’re not usually…” I’m distracted by how gorgeous and … unburdened he looks. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

He pushes past me and puts the cup on the table. “I’m being a better boyfriend, remember? Regular boyfriends walk their girlfriends to class, so here I am.” He picks up my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Fuck me, what do you have in here?”

“Books.”

“Lead books?”

“I’m thinking regular boyfriends are nicer than you.”

“I’m nice.”

I snort. “Okay.”

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against him, then kisses me in a way that makes my body go from zero to hormonal overload in about two seconds.

He looks down at me in triumph. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t nice.”

I nod. It’s not a valid answer, but it’s all I can manage.

“Ready to go?”

“Okay.”

He grabs my hand and pulls the door closed behind us.

I think I like this new boyfriend.





FOUR


HOLD ON TO ME


Present Day

New York City, New York

The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor


“Let me in, Cassie. Please.” He’s so persuasive. Soothing and coaxing as he moves his fingers up my arm before grazing my neck, then gently cupping my face. “Just let go of the door.”

He leans down, lips soft against my cheek. Then there’s warm breath on my ear. I close my eyes as a tremor runs down my spine.

“I know that email doesn’t make up for everything I did—”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“—but I meant every word, and if you let me in, I’ll prove it to you. Show you. Love you. Please…”

He brushes his lips against my ear, and it makes me tremble.

He wraps his fingers around mine and pulls them away from the door.

“You want to hold on to something?” he says. “Hold on to me.” He brings my hands to his chest. When I curl my fingers into his muscles, he doesn’t flinch.

“Ethan, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I know. Let me help you.”

“You never let me help you in the past.”

“I should have. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Please. Let me show you how different I can be.”

I close my eyes as he presses my hands against his chest and strokes my fingers.

Am I doing this? Considering trying again with him?

I stare at his chest. His shirt is a button-down. Blue. If I looked into his eyes right now, they’d mirror the color.