What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(59)

Rojo sprang into action, barks echoing through the house as I stood frozen in place, my hand still hovering over the knob as my heart kicked into my throat. Somehow, I knew it was her. Maybe it was an energy, a subliminal buzzing that I couldn’t fully comprehend. Whatever the reason, every nerve was alive with awareness of her as I crossed my house, breaths shallow and muted, like they were in someone else’s body altogether. The apology I’d practiced a thousand times in my head stirred to life, too, like a carousel of I’m sorry’s. I didn’t know if she’d hear me out, if she’d even be able to look at me. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why when I opened my front door and saw her standing there, an unearned relief washed over me.

Sarah stood on my porch just as she had Sunday night, only now, the sun was shining, the sky clear and blue above her. She was staring at her feet when I opened the door, but slowly, her gaze climbed until her eyes connected with my own.

She didn’t have to say a word for me to know she’d been through the same hell I had the past few days.

“I’m sorry I came by unannounced,” she said, voice surprisingly steady and firm. “I know our lesson isn’t until this evening, but I wanted to come by earlier to talk. If that’s okay.”

That guilt that had somehow washed away at the sight of her crawled its way back up, sticking to my throat and making my next swallow nearly impossible as I stepped back, holding the door open for her. “Of course. Please, come in.”

Rojo had been impatiently waiting behind me, and as soon as I moved, she squeezed through, greeting Sarah with a wagging tail and wet, sloppy kisses to her hands.

Sarah smiled, bending a bit to pet Rojo as she made her way inside. When we were all in the foyer, I closed the door behind her, shoving my hands in the pockets of my gym shorts.

“Thanks for coming by,” I said, snapping my fingers at Rojo to let her know it was time to calm down. She sauntered over to the couch, tail still wagging and eyes locked on Sarah, begging her to join. “I’m sorry the house is kind of a mess,” I continued, running a hand back through my damp hair. “I’ve been… busy.”

Sarah nodded. “Oh, it’s okay. I understand.” Her eyes washed over the living room — the empty cans of beer, blankets strewn everywhere, pillow on the couch where I’d tried to sleep since the bed was no reprieve, ashtray on the coffee table, evidence that I hadn’t cared enough to even go outside to smoke.

Then, her gaze turned to me.

She swallowed, the constriction of her throat all I could watch as her eyes took in my naked, sweaty chest. They lingered on my navel, dropping briefly to where my abs met the band of my shorts before they popped back up to meet my eyes.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” I scrambled over to the couch, plucking the sleep shirt I’d worn off it and tugging it on. “I was just about to get in the shower.”

Crimson shaded her cheeks, but Sarah didn’t otherwise acknowledge the fact that I’d been shirtless. “Can we sit?”

“Of course.” I hurried into the kitchen, pulling out a barstool for her like a fucking idiot. I even held it there, like a waiter about to scoot her in and ask if she’d like sparkling or spring water.

Sarah’s eyes softened a little, a smile touching the edges of her lips as she took a seat.

“Do you want a drink or anything? Water?”

“I’m okay,” she answered.

Sarah wouldn’t look at me now, her gaze solely focused on her hands, which were folded in her lap now. I slid onto the stool across from her, throat sticky and tight. Every apology I’d had seemed completely deficient now that I had her in my house. And the sickest thing was, in that moment, with her sad eyes cast down and unable to look at me, I wanted to kiss her just as badly as I had Sunday night.

I was the worst kind of fucking person.

“Sarah,” I breathed, swallowing down what nerves I could. “I am so sorry about what happened.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head like my words had caused her pain, and it killed me when I realized I actually had. A sharp pang of guilt ripped through me, and I winced against it.

“I wish I had more to say, some sort of… I don’t know,” I said, words scrambled as I tried to find the right ones to say. “Reason, I guess. Or excuse. Something to make what I did—”

“Please, don’t apologize, Reese,” she said, eyes still squeezed shut.

I frowned, wishing she’d look at me. My hands reached forward, but I stopped myself before I could touch her, planting my palms on the granite, instead. “But, I am. I am so fucking sorry, Sarah. What I did was inexcusable. I betrayed your trust. I—”

“There’s no one I trust more than you,” she said, cutting me off again as her eyes flew open. Her breaths were labored, her cheeks flushed as she looked behind me at the fridge. “I’m sorry, I think I actually would like some water.”

“Of course.” I popped up, plucking a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water from the pitcher in my fridge. Sarah downed half the glass once it was in her hand, and she kept her fingers wrapped around it like a safety blanket once it was back on the counter.

“I don’t want you to be sorry about what happened…” she said after a long moment. “It’s me who’s sorry.”