He had done it. He’d finally done it. He’d broken her and made her cry, right in front of him.

Victor waited. He waited for the satisfaction he should be feeling now that he’d brought her so low.

But it never came.

And after a few moments, he walked away…and came back with a box of tissues from one of the side tables in the living room.

He held them out to her. And she eyed the square box like he was offering her a bomb.

Victor didn’t blame her.

That dynamite that never went off in Texas…it still felt like it was burning somewhere neither of them could see.

So he waited patiently, and eventually, she took the box from him.

“Don’t mind me,” she said with a self-deprecating tone as she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m just tired and kind of a mess after this weekend with my mom. All I need is some sleep. Then I’ll be ready to start fighting you like the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote.”

He had no idea who those two characters were. But her promise made him want to laugh.

And take a seat on the floor beside her. So he did. Not holding her as she sniffled but sitting close to her until she calmed down.

It didn’t take long.

“So that was our hateyest hate-fuck yet. Was it good for you? Worth all the kissing and not spooging all over me when you came?”

She was joking in her usual inappropriate and irreverent way. He was almost sure of it. Yet he found himself considering—really considering the question.

Was that good for him? The answer was both yes and no. He’d liked kissing her. Liked coming inside of her. But the hating himself for doing it…that still didn’t feel great.

If he was honest with himself, it hadn’t felt great for going on ten years. Fucking Dawn and hating himself afterward felt like banging his head against the wall. More painful for him than anybody else. Nora was upset about their upcoming nuptials, but for Victor, it might be the only way out of this obsessive cycle.

Four more months…

He only had four more months to endure this obsession. But he also only had four more months to indulge it.

A new and perhaps terrible idea occurred to Victor. “What if we…”

He paused. His hand, trembling with the words.

“What if we what?” she asked, her voice soft and curious. She shifted to face him from her seated position.

He also shifted to face her more fully as he signed, “What if we pretended that we were the same people we were before.”

“Before?” she repeated, her expression morphing from sad to confused.

“Before in Japan,” he clarified.