“What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

He sets his water glass on the table and clasps his hands together. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this awkward with you in my entire life, nor have you ever been this silent.”

I pull my feet up on my chair and hug my knees. “Yeah,” I sigh, unsure of what I want to say.

“I get it,” he says. “I blew everything. And I know it’s the last thing you probably want to talk about, but I owe you an apology and not a drunk one, not one through a text, but a true, heartfelt apology in person. He pushes his chair out so he can turn it to face me. He bends at the waist and clasps his hands together again. He looks me dead in the eyes and he says, “What I did to you, what I said, it’s unforgiveable. I know this. It was harsh and not the man I ever want to be. There’s no excuse for my behavior that night, and I’m so ashamed. Ashamed, regretful, and frankly sick to my stomach that I’d treat someone so important to me like that.” He looks down at the floor and his voice grows tense. “The more I reflect on that night, the more I see my dad in my head, rather than my own face and it”—he takes a deep breath—“it’s sickening.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his. Eyes trained on mine, he rubs his thumb over my knuckles and says, “I’m so fucking sorry, Kinsley. I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions, for not hearing you out, for causing you such horrible pain, for kicking you out of my apartment and life, and for scaring you, like my dad used to do.” He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

I . . . I don’t know what to say. His apology impacts me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I’m not emotional, but rather, grateful. Grateful that Maddox has the wherewithal to understand that night, to know how it gutted me. How it wasn’t just what he said, but how he said it, his demeanor . . . his rage. He definitely gets it. And from the devastation in his eyes, his apology is serious and genuine.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Maddox says, pulling his hand away and pushing it through his hair. “I never should have said anything. I just thought . . . hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

He stands and pushes his chair in.

Oh God, he must be taking my silence as not forgiving him, not wanting to talk about this.

“Thanks for lunch, Kinsley.” He pulls on his neck and then takes off toward the door.

Wait.

I trip out of my chair and fall to the ground just as Maddox opens the door to the apartment. When he hears me fall, he’s instantly back at my side, helping me up.

“Are you okay?”

I nod and catch my breath, my heart pounding so fast that it feels like I might have a heart attack. “Don’t leave,” I say, my breath heavy. “Stay.”

“Okay,” he says, lifting us both to our feet. He shuts the door, and I take his hand in mine and walk us over to the couch where we both sit.

I keep hold of his hand while I find the courage to speak.

When I finally look up at him, I say, “You broke me, Maddox.”

He nods. “I know. I broke us. I broke our friendship, our love. I made it impossible for you to ever trust me again with your heart.” I hear the tightness in his voice, the regret, the fear. And when his eyes connect with mine again, I see how much pain he’s been feeling, which is possibly more than mine. “You are special, Kinsley. I’ve always felt like you were too special for me. Like somehow, I would wake up one morning and realize, the girl next door who saved me, would only be an illusion, a fantasy to help me escape the abuse of my father. But you weren’t.” His voice falters. “You were real, so fucking real and it scared me. That I somehow lucked out to have this special person in my life, watching over me, taking care of me, cheering me on, and I had nothing to give in return. I was waiting for the moment for it all to fall apart. I knew it was too good to be true and at some point, I’d drop the ball. I was self-sabotaging, preparing for that moment and when I thought it happened, I lived it, breathed it, let the worst part of me take over me. I let myself fall into the shoes of my father, and I treated you so fucking terribly that I will never forgive myself. I can understand if you never forgive me either.” He gives me a soft smile and says, “I wish I could say that I’m here to win you back, but honestly, I know that’s a far cry from reality. I’m here, just hoping that when you look at me, you don’t see the monster you saw the night of my birthday. I don’t want you to remember me as that . . . but rather someone who has always cared about what you care about, someone who supports you, and someone who will forever and always love you.”

That does me in. The tears tip over.

“Babe, please don’t cry,” he says, wiping away the dewy drops. “Please don’t cry.”

But it doesn’t work. More tears fall, and this consuming pressure builds in my chest, straining my lungs, and making me feel lightheaded.

My heart aches, not for myself, but for the man sitting in front of me. I ache for his childhood, for the loss of his mother, the loss of his father, who had been loving at one point. I ache for the damaged soul begging for someone to understand him, for someone to appreciate him for who he is. I ache for his love, his loyalty, his protection.

He might have hurt me, but he’s been hurt worse. His demons have eaten him alive, his past has swallowed him whole, and he’s so desperately trying to break the cycle, trying to change, that I can so clearly see it in his eyes.

He needs to know how much I care for him.

He needs someone to be there for him through the good and especially through the bad.

He needs someone to stick around and hold his hand when he isn’t seeing clearly.

And he needs someone to love him. To truly and fully love him.

Reaching out, I press my hand to his cheek. “You’re mine, Maddox. No matter how hard I tried to put distance between us, I couldn’t. I couldn’t push you out of my head, and I couldn’t even attempt to push you out of my heart.” His eyes squeeze shut, and I take that moment to push him back on the couch and straddle his lap. His eyes shoot open and his hands fall to my hips. “I love you, Maddox. I’m hopelessly infatuated with you and that will never change. You’re mine . . . forever, no matter how hard you try to push me away. You’re mine.”

“Fuck,” he says, his eyes welling and his hands coming to my cheeks. “Fuck, baby. I love you. I fucking love you so damn much.”

Clutching him tightly, I bring our tear-soaked faces together and press my lips to his, pulling a huge sigh of relief from him. I feel him relax beneath me, as if from the simple press of our lips, the built-up tension in his body is relieved.

His hands travel up my back, to my shoulders, and then to my cheeks, where he holds my forehead against his, his body heaving.

“Kinsley, please tell me you’ll be my girl again, that I didn’t fuck this up. This is for real and I’m not dreaming it.”

“This is for real, Maddox. I’m yours . . . forever.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m lucky.”

And with that, he slips his hand behind my neck and holds me in place as his lips crash down on mine.

There’s no other way to describe this moment other than pure joy.

Even though we had to paddle through a horrendous time of darkness, I know coming out of it, we’re going to be stronger than ever. Not only is he the love of my life, but he’s my best friend, my person, my soul mate, the person in this world who was specifically made for me. And nothing is going to change that.

Epilogue

MADDOX

“Are you nervous?” Lincoln asks, walking up to me.

“What do you think?”

Lincoln gives me a slow once-over. “Honestly, I have no idea. You have this weird calm about you that’s throwing me off.”

I rub my hands together and look around the shelter. Herman is dressed up in my tux, our friends are surrounding us, and there are zero decorations. Kinsley thinks decorations contribute unnecessary waste into the landfill because we never reuse them, but I did make a generic sign that says happy birthday that can be reused, so there’s a little something. And I made it out of fabric and fabric paint so it will last a long time. I told all our friends that it’s the signature birthday banner for the group now.

I rock back on my heels and say, “A little nervous.”

“Dude,” Jason says coming up next to me. “Herman in a tux is a nice touch. I’ve taken at least twenty pictures with him and can foresee at least ten more. He has that brooding look down. Dog’s got game, I see the lady dogs giving him the eye. Like, ‘oh, over here, Herman, bring those fine three legs over here.’”

“Why did I invite you?”

“Couldn’t be sure,” Jason says, taking a sip of his drink. “Could. Not. Be. Sure.”