Page 132 of What You left in Me

“I did.”

“Then why you come back?” she asks. She gulps, waiting for my answer.

I don’t answer right away. I watch her, the way her shoulders rise and fall, the way her voice frays on the edges. She’s wrecked and beautiful and furious, and I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.

Finally, I say, “Because I loved you before I knew how to name it. And I was too fucked up to love you right.”

The words land heavy. The silence after feels alive. She stares at me, eyes wide, mouth trembling just enough to betray her.

“You loved me?” she whispers.

“Still do.”

“After everything? Everything my mom did?”

“Because of everything.” I step closer, close enough to smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo, the ghost of what we were. “You think any other woman would want to make her mother suffer for a man?”

She swallows hard, smirking. “You’re not any man.”

I nod, returning the smile. “And you’re not any woman.”

A laugh slips from her, as she takes a step towards me. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.”

She looks at me for a long time, like she’s trying to decide whether to kiss me or kill me. Maybe both. Then her voice breaks, soft and raw. “You’re the only thing that ever felt real, Finn. Even when it was wrong.”

For a moment, the world narrows to her eyes, her breath, the faint tremor in her hands. Every inch of her is contradiction, fury and want, grief and love, and I want all of it.

Chapter 40 – Ariane – The Fire That Remains

Finn looks at me like I’m something he’s been rehearsing how to ruin. Not in the usual way, with his hands or his mouth, but with his words this time. With the truth that sounds like it’s been sitting in his throat for years, waiting for the perfect moment to cut through both of us.

He said it.I loved you before I knew how to name it.

And now I can’t breathe.

The room is too small for both of us. Or maybe it’s too full, packed to the ceiling with every unspoken thing we’ve ever swallowed. The desk, the whiskey bottle, the leather chair in the corner, all of it feels like witnesses at a trial I didn’t agree to attend. And Finn’s standing there like the goddamn prosecution and the confession rolled into one.

I want to move. To yell. To laugh. But all I manage is: “You can’t just drop something like that into a conversation and expect me to…”

He interrupts, because of course he does. “You asked why I kept you close.”

“Yeah, but I expected something likebecause you’re convenient, notbecause I loved you…”

His mouth curves into a smile.Fuck, he’s perfect.“You’d prefer convenient?”

“At least convenient comes with an instruction manual,” I mutter. “Love just comes with therapy bills.”

He huffs a laugh, running a hand over his overgrown stubble, and I hate that the sound makes me warm. He looks tired. There’s a bruise of exhaustion under his eyes andsomething in his expression that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to name.

“Oh, don’t worry I’ll be paying for your therapy…”

My stomach twists. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Probably,” he says. “But I’m the asshole who came back to you. Who will always come back to you.”

I look at him, at that smirk that’s barely holding up his exhaustion, and I want to hit him and then kiss him. “You make it sound noble.”