Page 43 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

They sobered me. “Where is he?” I asked, my voice shaking with urgency, desperation. The kind that lived in the marrow of dying men.

Thalia’s hands landed on my shoulders, steadying me as she turned me toward the water. “Down by the lake. Off the eighteenth green.”

I blinked at her, confused. “What? Why?—?”

“I took his keys when he ran out of the marquee. He didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“You’re a fucking angel .” I pressed a kiss to her cheek and bolted.

I ran like the world was ending. Like everything that had kept me breathing was waiting at the end of that trail. The wind whipped through my hair, the taste of whiskey and sweat clinging to my tongue, every beat of my heart a war drum. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But I didn’t stop.

Not until I saw him. Laid out beneath the moonlight like a ghost. Flat on his back on the soft green, one arm draped across his chest, the other flung wide with an almost empty bottle of whiskey nestled in his palm.

A cigarette burned low between his lips, casting a faint orange glow against the hard lines of his face.

He looked ruined.

I did that.

“Sinclair!” I choked, stumbling to my knees beside him, grit and grass embedded in my palms.

He flinched at my voice, jaw tightening. “Go away, Mr. Astor. Shouldn’t you be celebrating your engagement?”

That name. It hit like a hammer. “I’m not leaving,” I rasped, reaching for the bottle, for him , for anything. “I came to?—”

“Didn’t I tell you to get the fuck away from me?

” he snarled, sitting up so fast the whiskey sloshed over his fingers.

His eyes were red-rimmed, lips cracked, and every word he spoke was dipped in venom.

“I knew you’d crawl back once the walls started crumbling.

But it’s too late, Theo. You made your bed. ”

“I didn’t know he’d send me there ,” I whispered, my voice shattering. My mind was a frenetic mess. “I was a fucking kid —I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought I deserved it.”

He stared at me, unblinking, the cigarette trembling between his fingers.

I leaned in, breaking apart. “I became the man he wanted. The one who could survive in that world. I erased everything soft in me. Everything you gave back to me. I let him break me because I thought if I could just be good enough—he’d love me.

But all I did in the end was hurt you because I was weak. ”

Sinclair’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

“I’m not worthy of you,” I said, louder now, letting the words rip through me, shredding myself open for him. “I’m not. I never will be. But I love you, Sinclair. I love you in a way that’s ugly and loud and wrong, and I don’t know how to stop.”

He dropped the cigarette. It burned out in the grass beside him.

“I tried to stop,” I whispered, my hands shaking. “I tried to forget you. But I can’t. I won’t . I refuse to. You’re it for me. You’re the beginning and the fucking end and every breath in between. I know it’s too late, and I know I’ve ruined it, but please, please , just listen?—”

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice cracked.

Everything in me froze—like the moment before a car crash, complete stillness before the impact.

Sin didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me with those fathomless eyes that always saw more than I wanted them to. Eyes I’d dreamt of, hated myself for dreaming of. I raised my hand, wordless, desperate—begging him to let me explain.

He inhaled sharply, the tremble in his breath betraying the war inside him. He gave the smallest nod, the kind that cracked you open if you looked too closely. His gaze searched me—memorized me—like maybe this was the last time he’d ever allow himself to look.

“You deserve the truth. Every broken, brutal part of it. Even if it tears everything apart.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered.

And God—did I feel every inch of that weight. I had a thousand ways to say it. A thousand explanations. None of them were good enough. None of them worthy of him. But I knew the truth he needed most. So I gave it to him the only way I knew how.

“I love you.” The words hung there—bleeding, exposed. For a second, they didn’t land. And then I saw it—hope flickering behind the pain in his eyes. Fragile. Terrified. Like he’d finally heard them. Heard me. “I’m not engaged. Not to Rosalie. Not to anyone.”

His exhale was a sob in disguise. His whole body seemed to loosen, like he’d been holding himself together with barbed wire and could finally let go without bleeding out.

“W-what does that mean?” His voice cracked, and the words he didn’t say were louder than the ones he did. For us?

“Just—listen, okay?” I grabbed the half-empty bottle, swallowing fire to dull the nerves in my throat.

“This year, my father started hinting at some deal, some arrangement. I didn’t question it.

I was too busy trying not to fall apart every time I thought about you.

I was... a shell. Saying yes to things I didn’t even register.

Just floating and drowning all at once.” I ran a hand through my hair, letting the memory burn.

“That night—at the event. The one you weren’t supposed to work.

That was the first time I ever met Rosalie. ”

His brow furrowed, but he stayed quiet, a new cigarette burning between his fingers, smoke curling like a shield between us.

“I didn’t know what the hell was happening until an hour before it started.

And I swear, Sin... I’ve never wanted her.

I never looked at her and saw anything but obligation.

It’s always been you. Even when I was too much of a coward to say it.

Even when I hurt you by trying to run from it.

When I denied it.” I tapped the side of my head.

“What happened to me when I was fifteen... it fucked me up, Sin. It’s like there’s this voice in here that keeps saying I’m not allowed to love like this.

That I’m not built for it. But I am. I want to be. For you.”

His eyes burned, jaw tight. I wasn’t sure if it was anger or pain—or both. Probably both.

“I know I was a bastard to you. I know. But that night you said you were done with me—when I followed you to Nocturne, and we fought—I left, and I called Rosalie. I needed her to know. Needed her to hear it from me.”

He started to sit up, muscles coiling, rage and heartbreak blooming across his face. I held my hand up again. He froze. Then lit another cigarette instead.

“When I got to her place, I asked her outright: ‘Do you even want this?’ And she didn’t.

She told me about Jacob—this guy she’s been in love with since she was seventeen.

Her voice cracked when she said his name.

Like mine does when I say yours.” The corners of my lips lifted slightly at the memory, despite everything.

“We sat on her couch and told each other the truth. And for the last few weeks, we’ve been trying to figure out how to end it—how to break the engagement without our parents coming down on us like the world was ending.

” I took another swig, the burn sharp, grounding.

“Our plan was to tell them after the gala. After the charity funds were secure. We thought if we gave them a win, they might not fight the loss.” I swallowed, throat thick.

“But then... My father blindsided us. Announced the engagement publicly. Without a fucking word to either of us. Not to me. Not to her.” I looked up at him, everything inside me exposed.

“I never meant to lie. I just didn’t know how to tell you without losing you. ”

And now—I probably had. But I’d rather give him the truth too late than keep him chained in the dark with me. He deserved light, even if it burned.

Even if it meant he left me behind.

He stared at me for a long time, his face carved from stone, but his eyes?—

God, his eyes were bleeding .

And then he lunged .

His fist slammed into my chest, not to hurt me—but to feel my heartbeat, like he was trying to rip it out and make it his again. His fingers twisted in my shirt, anchoring me there. His mouth crashed into mine—violent. Bitter. Shaking with grief.

He shoved me back so hard I tumbled, but before I could breathe, he yanked me forward again, our foreheads knocking. And I let him. I let him do whatever he wanted.

Because that was us. We were drowning in pain. We were passion. We were the aftermath of every bomb we’d set off in each other’s chests.

Tears were streaming down my face and I tasted salt on his lips. We were clinging to each other like it was the last time. Ruining each other, all over again.

“I fucking hate you,” Sinclair breathed, his voice shaking against my mouth, tears hot between us.

“I know,” I choked, my hands fisting in the back of his shirt like I could hold him together.

“I should never forgive you,” he gasped, every kiss like it was a war he was losing and still choosing to fight.

“You shouldn’t,” I whispered, because he was right.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” he said, and his voice cracked—shattered—like it was being torn from somewhere so deep inside him that had never seen daylight.

“I don’t want anyone else,” I confessed, like a prayer against his lips. Like a sin I’d commit again and again.

“You destroyed me,” he said, and the way he said it— he wasn’t just broken. He was wrecked .

“I’ll spend the rest of my life putting you back together.”

And he didn’t speak after that. Didn’t need to. Because in the dark, tangled in a mess of sweat and salt and trembling hands, where love and hate bled into one another until neither made sense—he kissed me again.

And this time, I knew it wasn’t goodbye. It was the beginning of everything we’d been too afraid to survive.