James is good. His argument guts me. Damn that devil on my shoulder, he was so fucking hot as he did so too.

"I'm serious, James. I can't fucking do that to her. To us. You really don't think she won't care? You're wrong, and I won't do that to her."

James does that sarcastic chuckle again under his breath as he strides toward the bathroom. It grates on my nerves and makes me want to chase after him, but I don't. He made a good case in a matter of seconds and crushed any reason I feared would tear us down with one breath.

James stops and places his hand on the wall before he turns into the room and looks around the corner at me. His brows angle toward each other like he's struggling worse than I am. My face has tears streaming down my heated cheeks. I wish he'd come to me and kiss them away. I wish he'd tell me we’d find a way to make this work. Because right now, this feels hopeless, and even though he said he's not going anywhere, it feels like he’s already gone.

"Hypothetically, say Natalie doesn't have an issue and we could get married tomorrow, would you marry me?"

The silence in the room is deafening. My vision blurs further as the seconds tick by. I watch the hope in James's eyes reduce to grief, and it kills me. Breaking a man does something to me I can't explain. My brain is saying to be smart and follow the evidence so I can break the cycle, but my heart is saying yes. Like why is he even asking me? Of course, I'd say yes.

But I don't say anything at all, and neither does he.

I watch James's fingers tap the corner of the wall. He presses his lips together, his eyes boring into mine, and with a firm nod, he looks away. "Okay," he says, his voice low. "I understand."

Thirteen

For the last two days, the only times James has spoken to me was to ask me for a reason.

He says my reasons aren't legitimate and I need a better one if I'm going to win my case.

He'd ask me before the sun rose when he'd just woken up. His voice groggy, thick with sleep and making my body come alive. The rawness in his tone that comes with age and patience just gets to me, especially when he’s passionate about something. These last few mornings have been torture on me.

I couldn't bring myself to have him the next morning after we’d arrived home. I wanted him desperately, but it felt wrong. Twice I turned over to reach for him, and stopped myself. How was I supposed to have what I wanted with him if I wouldn't give him what he wanted with me?

I knew the moment I touched him I would pounce, so I’d quickly climbed out of bed and made my way into the bathroom.