I look at her. Heart swelling now, too.

I love that she doesn’t judge me. She doesn’t absolve me of everything, either.

She’s got a nuanced understanding of me. My story. The world.

Makes me want to judge less, too.

Judge myself less harshly.

“I had the fairy tale, but I walked away from it,” I say hoarsely. “Why the hell do I deserve another shot at happiness?”

“Because that wasn’t the right fairy tale for you. You say you were the villain in that story. And I say you were in the wrong story. Stop thinking of yourself as the big bad. Stop punishing yourself for not knowing better then, and start celebrating the fact that you know better now. Take that knowledge and live the life you risked your soul for.”

I can only stare at her. “That’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she says, the skin around her eyes crinkling with genuine pleasure. “I only study beautiful language for a living. Think about it, Grey. What’s the worst that could happen if you give yourself another shot? You get to spend eternity with David Bowie and/or The Prince of Darkness. I think your inner werewolf would be quite content with that scenario.”

I grin. Butterflies swarming inside my belly.

There have been few times in my life when I could pinpoint the moment that separated before and after. Before I knew my marriage was over, after. Before I became a lame thirty-something who spends his Friday nights building models or in meetings, after.

But I can tell that this is one of those moments. One that changes everything. The one that marks the time before I put down the gun I’ve been holding to my head, and after.

I am putting that fucking gun down.

Who the hell knows if it’s the right call.

Who knows if I deserve another chance. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.

But either way, I’ve been given that chance. She’s sitting right here beside me, hand in mine. Clear blue eyes and trust and warmth.

I’d be an idiot not to take the leap. Every bone in my body is telling me to do it. Take Julia with me.

“My past doesn’t excuse my behavior on the Rodgers’ Farms project. I want you to know that this—you and me—it feels different. My feelings for you are so different.” I lean down and brush my lips against her knuckles, inhaling her scent. Blood pulses through my cock, gathering in the head. It presses greedily against my fly. “I mean this in a good way—but I didn’t want to want you like I did. I fought it. Resisted you as best as I could, because I didn’t want to hurt you. Didn’t want to involve you in my mess. But you still got under my skin, and staying away from you was agony. Agony that pissed me off to no fucking end. I’m sorry, Julia. Truly, deeply sorry. I guess I’m just…I was smothered by superficiality for so long that you—your real and your deep—felt like this huge breath of fresh air. I was insanely attracted to it. Still am. Although it pisses me off a lot less now.”