“I’m going to address the whole me feeling guilty over Kristen losing the baby. Did it upset me? Yes, it did. Did I feel bad for her—for her having to go through that when I wasn’t even there? Because I wasn’t. I was at a match in Australia when it happened. That I felt guilty over. Because I should’ve been there when she had to go through that, but I don’t feel responsible for her losing the baby. I don’t know what she told you to back that up—”

“She said you two were arguing often and that she was upset with you not being around.”

A dry, humorless laugh broke the silence. “Maybe she thinks it’s my fault. We weren’t fighting bad. Just normal shit. Hell, who knows, but contrary to popular belief, I don’t go looking for things to feel like shit over.”

I let go of the cardigan and lowered my arms.

“And this whole I’m with you out of guilt?” His lips pressed into a thin, hard line. “I can’t deny that guilt had eaten me up, and sometimes, there are moments where it still does. I know you don’t blame me. There was a time where I wished you did, but I’m damn glad now that you don’t. But for you to think that I’d get this involved with you because of that?” Brock stopped and closed his eyes, almost as if he couldn’t continue, and I knew—I knew right then—that I had hurt him. I’d hurt this man who was so strong, both physically and mentally. I had wounded him with my doubt.

A bitter knot formed in the back of my throat, and I drew in a shallow breath. “What . . . what were you thinking when you first saw me in the restaurant?”

His lashes lifted. “I was thinking that I was glad I sought you out. I was thinking that you looked more beautiful than I could’ve possibly ever imagined. And I was thinking . . . I was thinking that even though it was risky approaching you and having you figure out why I was there, I just had to hear your voice.”

The next breath I took was shaky. “What were you thinking when I said I was going out with Grady again?”

Brock’s lip twitched. “I wanted to punch my fist through a wall.”

“How did . . . you feel when you woke up with me?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“Calmer than I’ve felt in fucking years,” he said, his eyes warming. “Like I was waking up and I was home.”

Oh.

Oh God.

My eyes blurred. “When you kissed me? And when you were finally with me?”