I press my thumbs more firmly against my closed eyes, making bursts of color break out against the backs of my eyelids.

“I’m a quitter, Ford. A liar. I made a promise, and I broke it. People like that don’t get another shot.”

I hear the ice in his whiskey clink against the glass. “So you think what? Karma is going to swoop in and cut you down if you allow yourself a little happiness? If you give yourself another shot at love?”

“I never said anything about love,” I growl. “I’m in lust with Julia. That’s it. And yeah. Yeah, what if that’s true? What if I get my heart ripped out because I ripped out Cameron’s? Or worse, what if the weight of my fuck up lands on the person I want? What if she gets hurt, or the baby does? I swear, Ford, I’m going to wreck myself or wreck her or wreck all three of us. I am the fucking drunk driver of relationships.”

Ford lets out a bark of laughter. “Strong metaphor there, Shakespeare. Your mind works in very weird ways.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ever consider that you’ve already had your heart ripped out? Slowly, over the course of your marriage? You fell out of love with Cameron. Which hurts. But she’s not blameless. Same as you’re not some trigger happy Tybalt, bound to destroy everything you touch.”

“Tybalt? What? Who are you?”

“The guy who paid attention in English class, dickface,” Ford replies crisply. “Arguably, Romeo and Juliet has no one true bad guy. But if there was, Tybalt would be a strong contender. The point I’m trying to make is maybe you’ve paid your dues. Maybe you’ve suffered enough. Hell, you signed the papers years ago, Grey. You’ve been punishing yourself for longer than that. That’s a lot of heaviness to carry around. Ever think it’s not fate that’s holding you hostage, but you? What if you’re the one holding the proverbial gun to your head? Not karma. Not destiny. You. You’ve punished yourself enough. Put the gun down, Grey.”

Tugging my thumbs over my eyelids, I straighten, blinking away the blur.

Don’t I wish I could put the gun down. Even if I could—even if I could forgive myself and let my past go and let people in—would Julia let me in? Do I even want her to?

We’re so different.

And it’s been so long since I’ve had any kind of real relationship, platonic or otherwise, with a woman outside of work. Would we be better co-parents as acquaintances rather than friends or fuck buddies? What if friends turns into something more? Our chemistry is hit-of-heroin level insane. Bad for you—so fucking bad—but so fucking good.

It’s just the more that gets me.

I don’t want to risk more for all the reasons I just told Ford.

But what would I be missing out on if I didn’t take that risk? What would I deprive my kid and her mother of by holding back? Would Julia consider more with me? She said point blank she’s a romantic at heart.