Reaching for his hands, I thread my fingers through his. “He was wrong. I was never falling in love with him, Alex. I love you. Only you.”

His chest rises with a deep breath, his grip tightening on mine. “I understand why he fell in love with you. You’re so damn easy to love.”

His gaze flickers to mine, heavy with exhaustion, pain, and something else—something that looks an awful lot like hope, no matter how fragile.

“Where do we go from here?” His voice is raw, edged with uncertainty.

“I don’t know.” Fear wraps around my throat like a python that refuses to let go. “What do you want?”

A quiet, bitter laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head. “I want to get in a fucking time machine and go back to six months ago so I can change everything that happened.”

If only––

He reaches out and brushes his thumb along my cheek. My eyes flutter shut as I lean into his palm, letting him cup my face, savoring his touch.

“I’m lost without you.” His voice breaks, rough with emotion. “I love you. I never stopped. Not for a single second.”

A tear slips down my cheek. “I love you too. Every second, every breath, it has always been you.”

“We have a lot to figure out.”

I nod, because he’s right. We have battles ahead of us. “I know.”

There are still so many questions, and so many wounds to be healed.

I cup his face, my thumbs tracing over the rough stubble along his jaw. Even with the cuts, bruises, and dried blood, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I lean in, pressing the lightest kiss to the cut on his face, then another along his cheekbone. A silent apology. A quiet promise.

When my lips brush his swollen mouth, he exhales and pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes stormy and conflicted. “There’s a lot going on in my head. It’s… overwhelming.”

I nod, understanding. “You need to scream… but not with your voice?”

His throat works as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He doesn’t answer right away, but his eyes darken, heat flickering behind them. “That would be a start.”

I slide my hands down to his chest, feeling the steady, heavy rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms. “We both know what you need. It’s what I need too.”

I clutch his hand, giving a small tug after I rise to my feet. He follows, his grip firm, like he’s afraid to let go. Without a word, I guide him through my apartment, past the wreckage of the fight.

In my bedroom, I turn to him, searching his face. His jaw is still tight, his shoulders rigid with the pain of everything still unspoken.