ONCE MORE, WITH YOU

XXVII

Summer Preston

I could still feel the ghost of her touch on my skin.

It didn't matter that I had left. It didn't matter that I had put space between us. It didn't even matter that I had told her I needed time.

None of it mattered because the second I stepped away from Solené, I already knew—she was still under my skin.

And I hated her for it.

I hated that she had the power to make my chest tighten with just a look. That even after everything, my body still wanted to lean into her warmth instead of away from it. That some twisted, lovesick part of me wanted to believe every word she said, even when I knew better.

But trust wasn't something you could just ask for. It had to be earned.

And right now, I didn't know if Solené had it in her to earn it back.

Which was why I found myself standing in her doorway again.

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I walked away, and I was already back.

Pathetic.

I didn't knock this time. I didn't hesitate. I used the spare key she had given me just days ago—before I knew she had a wife—before I knew what kind of secrets she was capable of keeping.

The lock clicked.

The apartment was dimly lit, the only glow coming from the kitchen where a candle flickered on the counter.

And then I saw her.

Solené was sitting on the couch, curled up in one of her old sweatshirts, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She was staring blankly at her phone, her fingers lightly gripping the fabric of her sleeve like she was holding onto something that wasn't really there.

Her head snapped up the second the door closed behind me.

"Summer?" Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn't spoken in hours. Or maybe like she had been crying.

Good.

I stepped forward, keeping my expression unreadable. "I need to know something."

She sat up straighter. "Anything."

"Are you planning to divorce her?"

Silence.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed. I watched the way her throat bobbed, the way her fingers curled into the sweatshirt—my sweatshirt.

That was all the answer I needed.

I let out a hollow laugh. "You really have some nerve."

"Summer, I—"

"Stop," I cut her off, my voice sharp. "I can't do this. I can't keep standing here, letting you tell me that I'm the only one who matters when you still have a fucking wife somewhere in the background."

"I told you, she doesn't mean anything to me—"

"Then why is she still legally tied to you?" I demanded. "If she doesn't mean anything, if this marriage was such a 'mistake,' why haven't you done anything to fix it?"

She exhaled shakily, raking a hand through her hair. "Because it's complicated."

"No, it's not." My voice was cold. "It's actually really fucking simple, Solené. If you want me—if you really, truly want this—then you go file the damn papers. You make a choice. Because I'm not going to sit around playing second to someone who shouldn't even be in the picture anymore."

Her eyes burned into mine, a storm raging behind them. "You're not second to anyone."

"Prove it."

A beat of silence.

She stood then, stepping toward me, hesitation laced in every movement. "Summer—"

"Don't touch me," I warned. "Not until you do what needs to be done."

Something in her broke at that. Her lips pressed together like she was trying to keep from saying something she'd regret. Like she wanted to reach for me but knew she had lost the right.

I took a breath, forcing the lump in my throat down. "I want to be with you, Solené. I do. But I'm not going to be in this limbo with you. Either you choose me completely, or you don't get to have me at all."

She inhaled sharply, her fingers twitching at her sides. "And if I do it? If I file the divorce?"

"Then maybe—" I stopped myself, forcing my voice steady. "Then maybe I'll be able to trust you again."

Her eyes searched mine, desperate, aching. "But until then?"

I swallowed. "Until then, I can't be with you."

A sharp breath escaped her lips, like the words physically hurt her.

Good.

Maybe now she'd understand how much she had hurt me.

I turned before she could say anything else, heading for the door.

"Summer—"

"Don't make me regret giving you the chance to fix this," I said quietly, my hand on the handle.

And then I walked out.

But the ache in my chest told me I wasn't really leaving her behind.

Not yet.