Aurora Lockheart was once the sunshine girl-bright, kind, and full of life. But one night changed everything, leaving her a shadow of who she used to be.
A year later, just as she's beginning to think she'll never find her way back, her ex-best fr...
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Time was supposed to be a healer, but several hours had passed and I still felt every blade of betrayal lodged deep in my back, without a hint of letting up. The pain wasn't numbing with time; it was sharpening, twisting, like a knife purposefully pressed harder with each minute that ticked by.
My emotions were in turmoil, a tidal wave crashing against the shores of my resolve, forcing me to oscillate between regret and self-preservation. I kept switching between thinking I'd made a terrible decision and doubling down on my choice to protect my poor battered heart. It was a dance of indecision, one that left me hollow yet aching all the same.
Was there a chance I had it wrong? That maybe I was overreacting? Of course. But the thing was, my heart wasn't nearly wise enough, or weathered enough, to gamble with another risk. Not now. Not after everything.
When my bedroom door creaked open, and Gibsie appeared like some ghost from the past, standing in the dim light a little after 3 a.m., it felt oddly fitting. Like the lyrics of one of my favorite Beyoncé song, I wasn't even surprised—just sad. Seeing him there, rumpled and wild-eyed, I wondered if I'd ever really be rid of the pain he'd caused.
"Will you do something for me?" he asked, his voice cutting through the darkness. Taking my silence as a nod, he continued, "Will you take a walk with me?"
"A walk?" My voice barely registered—hoarse and cracked, sounding foreign to my own ears.
"Please."
There was something in his tone—an edge, a seriousness—that made me throw off the covers, despite the heaviness weighing down my limbs. "Okay," I whispered, unsure if I meant it.
"Thank you."
Weary, I slipped into my dressing gown and toed on my slippers before moving to the door. "Just around the house, okay?" I wasn't ready to go far, physically or emotionally.
"Whatever you want," he agreed, trailing behind me like a shadow.
The night air hit us like a slap. It was at least −2 degrees, the kind of biting cold that cut through skin and settled deep in your bones. The sky was an inky canvas, dotted with pinpricks of starlight, a crystal-clear indicator that frost would coat everything by morning. Yet, despite the freezing temperatures, Gibsie was unfazed—he walked beside me in just a t-shirt and sweatpants, radiating heat like a furnace.
"So," I began, once the front door clicked shut behind us, "is this a 'deep and meaningful talk' kind of walk, or are we just outrunning your nightmares tonight?"
"It's more of an 'I fucked up and can't sleep from the guilt that's eating me alive' kind of walk."
His confession landed like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I faltered. My breath caught, but I forced myself to keep moving, desperate to keep my composure. "So, you were with Catwoman?"
"Not last Saturday night, I wasn't," he said quickly, his voice thick with regret. "I was in the past, but haven't been in a very, very long time." He reached for my hand, hesitating just before contact, before letting his arm fall back to his side. "I promise you, Aurora. I haven't looked at, let alone touched, anyone else since way before we got together."
"Okay." The word left my mouth cold and hollow, and I shoved my hands into the pockets of my dressing gown, trying to protect them from both the cold and the conversation. "I believe you. I always will.."
"Don't," he warned, his voice suddenly raw with emotion, noticing the walls I was putting up. His eyes locked onto mine, intense and searching, as if trying to see past the hurt. He reached for me again, this time not hesitating, gently prying one of my cold hands from the folds of my dressing gown. His breath came out ragged, his chest heaving as though the weight of the moment threatened to crush him. "I meant it the first time. I meant it the last time."
Then, with one swift, strong movement, he hooked his arm around my waist, pulling me against him, his body heat enveloping me in the bitter night air. "And I mean it now."
"Gib—" His name was barely a whisper before his lips descended on mine.
What started as a featherlight kiss, tentative and searching, quickly ignited into something far more passionate. His tongue found mine, not forcefully, but with a slow, deliberate sweep that sent sparks skittering across my skin. I clung to him, caught up in the whirlwind of his touch, the bitterness of betrayal momentarily forgotten as we drowned in the intensity of the moment.
When he finally pulled back, his breath warm against my lips, he spoke softly but urgently. "I've been a poor man for you," he admitted. "I see that now. It took me a while, and I fully admit that I've been caught up in my own messed-up head, but I'm seeing it now, Aurora." His voice cracked, the vulnerability palpable. "I'm seeing you. Hearing you."
His forehead pressed against mine, grounding us both. "From here on out, I will follow you anywhere."
My heart skipped, then thundered in my chest. "What do you mean?"
"I mean it's yours," he whispered hoarsely. "Whatever you want from me. It's yours, Aurora."
"You've always been mine."
His eyes closed as if the weight of those words washed over him, and when he opened them again, they were full of relief. "Thank you," he breathed, his voice tinged with awe. "For being the most understanding person I've ever met."
And in the quiet cold of the night, with the frost forming around us, I wondered if understanding him was really enough.
