Fold

Her hand falls. “Well, stop wondering. Because it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.”

She grabs my chin and my heart clanks out a desperate plea, wanting her to mend the damage she caused it.

“He never mattered. He was just something I thought I wanted because I feared what people would think about me marrying a girl.”

She strokes my cheek and I lean into her touch. Becca's never talked to me about these feelings before and I can't help but empathize.

“But I'm not scared anymore, Kit. And I know you won't believe me when I say this, but I was pla

I want to ask her if that was before or after she put a knife straight through my ticker and watched me bleed out from the trauma, but she looks down and says, “Unfortunately, fate had other plans. And I know now just how badly I fucked up.”

I look down at her belly, the bump a glaring reminder of why she shouldn't be here right now and why I need her to leave.

“I wanted to tell you,” she continues. “I mean, obviously I had to.”

She's seeping in again. I can feel it. “Why didn't you?”

“Because I wanted to keep you just a little longer.” The corners of her mouth turn down. “I'll always be sorry for what I did to you. There are so many things I wish I could take back.”

“I don't know what you want from me, Becca.” The fog lifts a little and I steel myself. “We can't change the past. What's done is done.”

We stare at each other for several beats before I say what I should have said the moment I opened the door to my past. “I think you should go.”

Her face twists in pain. “Are you sure that's what you want?”

No. “Yes.”

She inclines her head, narrowing the space between our mouths. “Fine. If you're really sure, then I'll go.”

I'm relieved because I'm a razor's edge away from caving.

“But not before I do this.”

“What—”

I don't get a chance to finish that statement because her lips are on mine and everything starts to whirl inside me like a twister.

The hurt, the pain...the feelings I still have for her.

Logically, I know this is wrong and I should push her away instead of kissing her back, but there's still a small part of me that can't untangle myself from her.

Love is an addiction. A dependency. A craving.

It's why we allow the poison to enter our system in the first place.

It's what makes us accept far less than we deserve.

The stove is hot. We all know this. We've all been warned.

Yet we all touch it at least once in our lifetime.

Some of us even chase the burn.

Because at the end of the day, it's better to delude yourself into thinking that someone loves you, even a toxic person...rather than face the stone-cold reality that they don't.

The bubble of deception we create is our protection.

No one wants to be unloved.

Preston.

His name flashing through my head is the equivalent of being waterboarded with ice water and I break the kiss.

“We can't do this.” I wipe my lips with the back of my hand as if it will erase the mistake I've just made.

“What? Why?”

“You have a fiancé,” I remind her. “I know your moral code isn't exactly fine-tuned, but this is wrong.”

“I can't marry him.” Her lips caress my ear. “I'm in love with you.”

I want to point out all the monumental things that are wrong with that statement, starting with the fact that you're not supposed to break the people you love, but all I can think about is Preston.

Not only is his father in the hospital currently, his fiancée is cheating on him. “He asked you to marry him and you said yes. And you're having his baby. He loves you, Becca. He doesn't deserve to be hurt like—”

Like you hurt me.

She gives a shake of her head. “Trust me. He doesn't love me or this baby.”

I open my mouth to protest, but she collapses on the floor in a fit of tears and my heart jumps to my throat.

“If he did, he wouldn't be out all the time gambling. Or getting drunk and calling different girls to meet up night after night.”

My mind flits back to the phone call again and I wince. Shit, he's even more of an asshole than I thought.

She lifts a finger. “I know, I deserve it because of what I did to you.”

I sit down beside her. “No, you don't.”

She gives me a half-smile. “You really believe that?”

I grab a box of tissues off the nightstand and hand her one. “I don't know.”

She wipes her eyes. “Truth is, I'm not even upset about it. I don't love him, I never did. I was only trying to do the right thing for the baby.” She sniffs. “It's been over between us for a while.”

I tell my heart not to listen, but it's a glutton for punishment. “I don't—”

She puts her finger to my lips. “I know you have every right to hate me. But if you give me one more chance, you won't regret it.”

“Becca—”

She clasps my face in her hands. “I know it's hard for you to trust me again, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes.”

Her lips find my neck and my eyes flutter closed. God, I want to believe her. More than that, I want to be able to forgive her.

Like a cold shower in sub-zero temperature, my nemesis permeates my brain. “What about him?”

“I told you, we're over. All I want is you, Kit.”

She doesn't give me a chance to object because she claims me with her mouth again. I want to protest and tell her this is happening way too fast and I need to think, but her fingers start working their way down my body, sending the typhoon into another spiral.

“Now lay back and let me show you just how much I've missed you.”

The stove is hot, I remind myself as she slips my yoga pants off my hips.

But some of us chase the burn.

Because we want so badly to be loved.