Page 130 of Save Your Breath

I was fuckingwrecked.

I supposed there was a part of me that always knew the truth. Mia’s father had told me from the start — I wasn’t good enough for her. And I’d agreed. I’d seen her for everything she was and me for everything I wasn’t and knew the two didn’t fit.

I’d held it together that night when we were teenagers, the night she’d asked me to kiss her and I’d found the willpower to say no.

I’d kept my distance over the years, watching her love other men from afar, other men who were my polar opposite in every way.

And even through this publicity stunt, I’d done my best to draw the line between real and fake, to realize what this was and what it would never be. I’d taken advantage of the excuse to hold her, to touch her, to kiss her —knowingit would all end one day, that it didn’t really mean anything.

But there’d always been part of me that wondered.

Never good enough.

Never good enough.

Even when I talked myself out of it, Hope was a loud little bastard in my ear. When I held her, I wondered if maybe she wanted me to. When I kissed her, I wondered if she liked it, wondered if the way her breath caught meant something.

And that night in my condo when she’d asked me to kiss her again, when she’d admitted she wanted me when there wasn’t a camera around to perform for, I hadn’t hesitated.

I’d jumped all the way in.

And like an idiot, I’d assumed it meant something.

It wasn’t fair of me to put that on her. She’d owned her truth that night.

Turn off my brain. Make me stop thinking.

She’d been anxious, scared. She was powerless in that moment and couldn’t sleep thinking about the possibility of her show being canceled.

And so she’d used me.

Andfuck, I’d wanted to be used.

I’d let her do it again even now, even knowing this ice pick of pain in my chest was sure to follow, I’d still say yes. I’d still fall to my knees for her.

I’d told her she was in control that night, and I’d meant it.

But as soon as we woke the next morning and she was running around my condo like a hurricane herself, I realized relinquishing that control would be the death of me.

I wanted her to stay.

I wanted her to pause, take a breath, and talk to me.

I wanted to ask her who that song was about. I longed to know if her brain chemistry had been fucking destroyed and rewired the moment we gave in — the way mine had been. I craved her touch, her kiss, her assurance that something monumental had shifted.

But she’d just… left.

No conversation. No kiss goodbye — not until I literally ran after her and stole one in that elevator.

It was right back to business for her.

Never good enough.

Never good enough.

Even if I’d grown the balls to sayfuck leaving it in her courtand decided to ask her about that night, there hadn’t been time. I’d flown in for her show, played my part in our little stunt for the cameras, and then been effectively shoved to the side by her team as they celebrated her success.

And rightfully so.