Page 80 of Healed Heart

How do you make sense of loving someone more when you swore you already loved another with everything you had?How do you let go of guilt when happiness feels like a betrayal?He’s fighting it.I see it in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he hesitates before he lets himself touch me.

As if touching me is wrong, as if choosing me means he has to leave something behind.

But that’s the thing—he never has to leave anything behind.Love doesn’t work like that.It grows, it shifts, it stretches to make room for what comes next.

But he doesn’t see it that way.Not yet.

I wish I could take the pain from him.I wish I could unburden him, strip away the layers of grief and regret and make him understand that he’s allowed to have this.

To have me.

To want me.

To love me.

I don’t know how to reach him.I don’t know how to make him see that what’s behind him doesn’t have to destroy what’s ahead.That love—ourlove—doesn’t make him a traitor to his past.That innocence isn’t just about proving he didn’t commit a crime.It’s also about letting go of the punishment he insists on giving himself.

So I kiss him.

I let him ravage my mouth, let him pour all his frustration into me.

His hands are in my hair, pulling me closer.He’s a storm of despair and frustration and guilt, but underneath I sense a thread of determination.

That gives me hope.

I wrap my arms around him and hold him tightly.I trace soothing patterns across his back as his kiss softens into something less desperate, less demanding.He pulls back slightly and rests his forehead against mine as we both gasp for breath.

For a moment we stay there, locked in each other’s grip, our breathing ragged.

“There’s only one thing I am certain of right now.”His voice is strained, barely more than a murmur against my skin.“You.”

“Then use me,” I say.“Take me.Do whatever you need to do to ease the ache inside you.”

He shakes his head.“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

I swallow hard.“Maybe I don’t.Maybe I’m good with that.I just want to be here for you, Jason.Let me do that.Let me do that for you.”

ChapterThirty-Two

Jason

I should walk away.

I should walk away, go home, jack off, and then run ten miles.

But I don’t.

I don’t walk away.

Instead, I grab Angie, grip her shoulders almost violently.“Take off your fucking clothes,” I grit out.“Then get on your bed.”

She turns to walk to her bedroom?—

“No.Here.Strip.Now.”

Her eyes widen at the command, but after a moment of hesitation, she starts to remove her clothes.This woman, so full of strength and vulnerability all at once, obeys me without question.It is an act of submission, an offer of salvation.

There’s no salvation for me, of course, but Angie is truly good.Truly angelic, like her name.