Her breathing slows.

So does mine.

“Josh,” she says again.

And I kiss her harder, taking her bottom lip between mine as I slowly reach for her hand again. With tear stained lips, I kiss her with everything I have until her entire body relaxes against mine. Then she parts her mouth, her tongue swiping along mine and I pull her hand away, linking my fingers with hers. My thumb grazes against her thumb, feeling every single bump and dip caused by her teeth.

She whimpers as she returns my kiss, and with each second that passes, the kisses turn more passionate, more needy, more desperate. “Make it stop,” she whispers, her mouth still on mine. “It hurts too much.”

“How? Tell me what to do,” I say, my desperation matching her kiss.

“Touch me. Please, Josh. Just touch me. Make it stop.”

I pull back slowly, my eyes on hers, open for the first time since I came in. She chokes on a single sob—one that should break my heart. But when she whispers my name and cries, “Please, I need you,” it has the opposite effect.

It repairs it.

And for the next hour, I do what she asks. I touch her. Everywhere. My hands, my mouth, everything. Until every single inch of her has felt my touch and her cries of desperation turn to moans of pleasure.

We do everything but have sex—because sex with her is something I don't want to regret. And when her body shudders under my touch, my lips between her legs, and her hands gripping my hair—that’s exactly what I feel.

Regret.

Not because of what we've done.

But because I caused it.

I should've let her talk when she was at my door.

I should've given her a chance to explain.

But my pride out won my sense.

And now we were this—whatever the hell this is.

I move up her body, my mouth dragging along her sweat coated skin. I continue to kiss her neck, her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, her tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

“Me too, Becca.” I sigh. “Me too.”

Her fingers comb through my hair while I roll to my side, my head on her chest, listening to her heart thump against my ear.

“My mom—she was in the car with me. The one that crushed my throat.”

I hold my breath, not wanting to move in case she stops.

“She died.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Olivia was my high school counselor. I didn’t know I had any family and she took me in. Josh…” She tilts my head up so she can look in my eyes. “She knows stuff about my past. Stuff that made me hesitate to tell her about who you were to me. You have to believe me. It has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. My past—it makes me…this. And I hate this,” she whispers, breaking off on a sob. “You’ve seen me at my worse now. And I can’t handle the pain of it—let alone talk about it. And I don’t want my past to determine my future—and my future is you, Josh. That’s all I can give you. I’m sorry if that isn’t good enough for you.”

Her chest rises and falls against my cheek, her eyes on mine. And I realize now, that she needs me as much as I need her.

I close my eyes and keep them that way.

Because I don’t want her to see me holding back tears.

I don’t respond yet. Because if I do—I’ll tell her how I feel about her.

And she can’t know either of those things. Because even though it feels wrong to be in so deep, so desperate, so dependent on our feelings—on each other—I don’t want it to stop.

But the worst part? She’ll know.

She’ll know that I’m falling in love with her.

And that means she has the power.

The power to destroy me.

And if there’s something I fear more than anything in the entire world—it’s the aftermath of the damage we’ll cause. Because it won’t just be me caught under the fragments of it all, it’ll be Tommy too. And Tommy and I—we don’t need any more destruction.

“Say something, Josh.”

I push back those thoughts and give her a kiss, and with it, I give her my heart. “You’re more than enough.”

17

-Joshua-

For the next few days Becca’s quiet, and not just quiet in that she doesn’t speak, but she’s almost completely unresponsive. Even to Tommy. “I’m going to put Tommy to bed,” I tell her, squeezing her hand before kissing it. “Can you hang back for a while?”

She nods, her gaze distant.

After tucking Tommy in, I sit down on the couch next to her. She hasn’t moved. “Becca?”

She blinks.

I pick her up and sit her on my lap, her legs across mine. I place one of her arms around my neck, and hold the hand of the other. She doesn’t seem to notice any of it. With a sigh, I rub my nose across her cheek and kiss her neck. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you still worried about that night or something?”

Her shoulders lift—just slightly.

“You know it doesn’t change anything, right? It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Finally, her eyes move to mine. “I’m so sad,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

And my heart breaks. “Babe…”

She wipes her eyes on my shirt—the wetness from her tears soak through to my skin. “I don’t know why, Josh. It’s like… I’m here but I’m not. And I can’t shake it.”