Page 112 of Almost Rotten

The clarification leaves me to believe a litany of other acts occurred between them.

The beast inside me fights against the carefully crafted restraints of my temper.

She’s here. I’ve scared her off enough. She’s coming clean.

Warm palms capture my face, her thumbs rubbing back and forth over the stubble on my jaw as she forces me to meet her gaze.

I hold it for all of two seconds before I have to look away.

“The last few weeks have been a mess, and I caused a lot of stress and turmoil for you. I pulled away, and I understand if you don’t feel like you can trust me. I broke your trust, and I’m sorry. But I’ll work for it, Mercer,” she says, voice trembling. “I’ll do the work to earn your trust back, no matter how long it takes.”

I garner the courage to look her in the eyes once more.

The depth of her sincerity is written all over her face. She’s sorry, and she understands how much damage she’s caused. She also recognizes that a simple apology isn’t enough.

With a nod, I glance back to where Noah stands at the stove, his back to us. There’s no way he can’t hear every word.

His presence is a relief.

It feels hopeful, in a way.

She’s here. He’s here.

We’re going to be okay.

I turn back to face her. “And you’re promising not to pull away again?”

It’s my biggest concern. It’s also, apparently, my greatest fear.

“I’m here,” she tells me solemnly, cupping one side of my face. “And I’m not going anywhere. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

My traitorous heart yearns to comfort her.

But another part of me can’t reconcile the events of the last few weeks. Especially now that I know she was intimate with that boy.

No matter. None of my conflicting emotions will be completely resolved tonight. As much as I’d love to wave a magic wand and plow ahead, it’s going to take time.

So it’s best if we start working toward our shared goal.

Standing to full height, I shift closer, forcing Sawyer to crane back.

“I’ve prepared dinner and dessert for tonight. After we eat, Noah’s going to build a bonfire. I want to sit out there together, then bring you back here, where we’ll all sleep in the same bed again, before we go into work together in the morning. Understood?”

She breaks into a cheeky smile. “Yes, Professor.”

I smirk.

This is good. I can do this.

Assurance flits through my mind, though it’s quickly followed by a wave of self-doubt.

“Are you saying yes because you want to be here, or because you feel obligated?”

She presses her lips together, then gives an imperceptible shake of her head. “I want this. Right here, right now, with you and Noah, is exactly where I want to be.”

With a shuddering breath, I press my forehead into hers. We stay like that for several heartbeats, wordlessly holding each other up, digging for the confidence to trust that this is real.

I want to allow myself to hope. I wish I could easily trust again and confidently lean into this relationship. But it’s going to take time. Her acknowledgment of that fact alone is what galvanizes me to believe there’s hope for us yet, and that we’re going to be okay.