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She lets out a broken laugh, shaking her head. "The hell you didn’t! You let me think you were dead!"
I take a step forward. She backs up, but I don’t let her escape.
"You weren’t supposed to grieve for me forever," I say, my voice low, rough. "You were supposed to move on."
Her eyes glisten, her chest rising and falling with each uneven breath. "Move on? You were my everything, Nick. And you let me mourn you like a fool."
She fists her hands at her sides, as if fighting the urge to hit me again. I almost wish she would. I’d rather take her anger than the raw, aching hurt I see in her eyes.
"You were better off thinking I was gone," I tell her.
She scoffs. "Better off?" She gestures wildly. "Do you have any idea what that did to me? How it destroyed me?"
I do. I fucking do.
Because I spent every night picturing the way she must have crumbled when they told her. I imagined the way she cried, the way she curled up in bed, alone, thinking I was never coming back. Until today, I wasn’t.
She takes a step forward, her face inches from mine. "Tell me," she demands, her voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "Look me in the eye and tell me why."
I don’t lie to her.
"They weren’t finished with me," I say. "The men who took me, who killed my team—they were still out there. Fitzwallace and Cerberus took me in, gave me the chance to take them down. I stayed dead because it was the only way to keep you safe."
Her expression flickers, like she wants to believe me but can’t.
"So, what now?" she whispers. "You come back after years, expecting me to just… what? Forgive you?"
"No," I say. "I expect nothing. Remember, you came to us, not the other way around."
That stops her for a moment as she searches my face, her own unreadable. Then, before I can stop myself, I reach for her.
She doesn’t move as I cup her jaw, my thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. Her lips part, just slightly, and I feel the way her breath hitches.
I lean in, close enough that I can taste the warmth of her skin, close enough that if I wanted to, I could claim her right now. For a moment, I think she’s going to let me.
But then—she brings her knee up and sends my balls back into my body cavity. I hiss and take a knee, one hand cupping my balls.
"No," she says, her voice trembling. "No way do you get to kiss me like nothing ever happened."
I exhale slowly; my control razor thin. "Cherise...”
"No," she snaps, turning her back on me. "I need space."
I don’t argue. I’ll back off.
For now.
Cherise is still angry. I’m the one who may never father children and she’s staring at me like she wants to set me on fire.
I let her. I take the fury in her gaze, the way her breath shudders with barely contained rage. I deserve it. Every ounce of it.
"Say something," she demands, her voice raw. "Tell me why, Nick. Why did you let me believe you were dead?"
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. "Because if I hadn’t, you would be."
She flinches, but she doesn’t back down. "That’s a load of bullshit."
I step closer. She stiffens, but I don’t stop. I make her tilt her chin to meet my eyes. "The men who took me were Somali pirates, and not just some random warlords. They were connected—mercenaries, arms dealers, ghosts who don’t leave loose ends.”