Page 16 of Hold Me Closer

" I can't believe you finally learned how to cook.

" I grin mischievously at Teo as we sit beside each other at the breakfast bar in his massive kitchen.

He's wearing nothing but a pair of sweats resting low on his hips, and I'm in his t-shirt and my panties.

A heaping plate of spaghetti and homemade meatballs rests in front of me, with freshly grated parmesan and garlic bread in bowls between us. It looks amazing.

"I'm full of surprises, butterfly." He smirks at me as he rolls spaghetti onto his fork. "Even took a damn class in college."

"I bet Aunt Miranda was thrilled about that." I laugh quietly. "Remember when you set the oven on fire trying to make a TV dinner?"

"We're not talking about that," he rumbles. "Besides, I didn't learn for my mom."

"Ah," I tease, "So you got tired of living on ramen and turkey subs at school, huh?"

"I couldn't take care of you properly if neither of us could cook." His blue eyes drift over me, something deep and unfathomably warm in his expression. "And I seem to recall your mom having to replace a microwave or two because of you microwaving utensils."

I stare at him with wide eyes, my fork hovering near my mouth. "You learned to cook for me?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "Even when you weren't mine, I did every fucking thing I could to prepare in case you ever…" he trails off, clearing his throat. "Well, I was always a hopeful motherfucker when it came to you, Nadia. Have been my entire fucking life. That never changed."

"Teo," I whisper, my heart clenching in a vise.

Every time I think maybe my heart is done breaking over everything we've lost, another little piece of it crumbles.

Will it ever stop hurting entirely? Probably not.

Maybe, had the accident not happened, we would have found our way back to one another a long time ago.

Maybe by the end of Thanksgiving break, we would have been back together, inseparable again.

He was determined to make it happen, and my defenses were in shreds when I ran out of there that night.

I wanted to turn back around as soon as I left.

I thought about turning around the whole damn drive.

But I'm stubborn, and I didn't. And then it was too late.

We drifted so far off track, but our hearts never changed. "I hate how much time we've lost."

"Me too."

I drop my gaze to my plate, wishing like hell that we could go back and do it over again. "I missed so much of your life. All the important moments for the last six years."

"There weren't many of them, Nadia."

I snort, lifting my gaze to him. "You were drafted to your dream team. You won the championship. You moved to California." I nod at the food in front of me. "Learned to cook."

A ghost of a smile touches his lip. "And you ran off to California and won a Grammy. You released an album. Went on tour." His brows furrow. "Please tell me you also learned to cook."

"Nope."

His smile grows. "That's okay, baby. I'll do the cooking."

We eat in silence for several minutes, my eyes wandering up and down his bare chest.

"I missed all of that too," I murmur when he catches me watching him.

His brows furrow.

"You were always big, but Jesus, Teo. Now you're…wow. How long did that body take?"

A chuckle rumbles from his lips. "Professional sports are no joke, butterfly."

"Well, professional sports look good on you."

"You want the truth?" He pauses, waiting for me to nod.

"Working out gave me something to focus on.

I've had a lot of self-destructive tendencies since I pulled you from that car," he rasps.

"I fucking hated myself for pushing you out of my life.

I hated that your life fell apart because of it.

Working out never exhausted my mind, but it helped wear my ass out, so I didn't do anything stupid. "

"You know I struggled?" My stomach trembles, anxiety creeping through me.

"You were on track to graduate as valedictorian," he says, setting his fork on his plate. "Instead, you graduated sixth in your class. You skipped college." Guilt flows through his expression. "You stopped going home if I was going to be there. I fucking hated myself for that shit."

"It wasn't your fault," I whisper. "It was just…everything, honestly. I had horrible nightmares and anxiety after the accident. I couldn't focus."

"It was me, too," he says softly, reaching out to touch my cheek. "You needed me, and I wasn't there."

My gaze drifts over his face, searching, trying to figure out how much he knows. "I…"

"No one would tell me much about what was going on with you. They kept telling me that you were safe, and if I wanted to know anything else, I needed to talk to you." He blows out a breath. "I should have fucking listened, butterfly."

He doesn't know everything. The truth rises up in my throat, the whole ugly story.

But I swallow the words back again. What good would it do now?

There's already so much regret between us.

He carries so much guilt already. I can't add to it.

I won't. If I have to carry this to spare him, I'll carry it.

He wasn't there when I needed him…because he didn't know.

No one told him because they were trying to protect us both the only way they knew how.

I don't blame them for that. God, no. We were both spiraling, both hurting, and I wasn't ready to listen to reason.

They tried. I ran off, refusing to hear it. That's on me.

But I know the truth now. And in a way, it's sadder than I expected.

Because the truth is…he was always there.

I was just too damn stubborn to see it. I had a lifeline.

I just wouldn't reach for it. Like most people who are drowning, I was too busy flailing, too busy trying to keep my head afloat to think rationally.

In the thick of the pain and the fog of grief, there was no seeing clearly. There was just pain.

It's not him I needed to forgive because we were never really fighting each other. It was always ourselves we were at war with. It's always been myself who needed my forgiveness. And he needs to forgive himself, too. That's the battle we've been waging. That's the time we've lost.

Seems maybe Zoya was right about a hell of a lot. She's a smart cookie.

"Can you do something for me?" I ask, reaching for his hand.

"Anything," he says without hesitation, lifting it to his lips to brush a kiss across my knuckles.

"Forgive yourself," I whisper. "Even had you reached out, I wouldn't have answered. I was too busy being angry to hear you." I blow out a breath. "Because I needed to forgive myself too."

His eyes narrow on my face, his expression searching.

"I pushed you away, and part of me has always hated myself for it.

You hurt me, so I just shut you out. I thought it'd make living without you easier.

And then the accident happened, and I woke up alone in that bed and realized I'd done it to myself.

" I exhale a soft breath. "I've been angry at myself ever since then. "

He brushes his hand down the side of my face. "I'll make you a deal, butterfly. You forgive yourself, and I'll work on doing the same."

"Would you believe me if I told you that I'm already working on it?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead. "I can believe that."