ONCE MORE, WITH YOU

XXIX

Summer Preston

I didn't take the papers from her.

I didn't reach for them, didn't reach for her, didn't let my expression crack no matter how much my insides twisted at the sight of her standing there, wrecked and waiting.

"Summer," Solené whispered, her fingers tightening around the edges of the stack, like she was holding onto them for dear life. "I did what you asked. I filed. I—" She let out a breath, shaking her head. "Just... please say something."

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. "What do you want me to say?"

Her face twisted, hurt flashing across her features. "That this means something. That it'll fix us."

"You should have done it for yourself, not for me."

She flinched like I had struck her. "You are my reason, Summer. You always have been."

I exhaled sharply, stepping back. "I told you I needed time."

"It's been weeks."

"And that doesn't erase what happened." My voice wavered despite my best efforts to keep it steady. "It doesn't change the fact that you kept something like this from me. You were married, Solené. And I was supposed to just—what? Pretend that didn't matter?"

"No," she said quickly. "I never expected that. I know I messed up, I know I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve for you to forgive me overnight, but—" She inhaled shakily. "But I'm here. I did what I should have done a long time ago. I chose you. I'm choosing you. Doesn't that count for something?"

My fingers curled into fists. "I don't know."

Because I didn't.

Because even now, even after everything, I still felt like I was drowning in her.

Still felt like if I let myself, I would fall right back into her arms and forget why I had been so angry in the first place.

And that terrified me.

Solené took a slow step forward, lowering her voice. "I don't expect you to let me back in right away. But please, just—don't shut me out completely. I'll wait. As long as it takes, I'll wait."

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

The dark circles under her eyes. The way she was clutching the papers so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. The way her voice wavered like she was afraid I was going to disappear in front of her.

I should have told her to leave.

I should have told her I wasn't ready.

Instead, I said, "I don't know how to trust you again."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "Then let me prove that you can."

I didn't respond.

Because that was the problem, wasn't it?

She had already proven that she could love me.

But love wasn't the issue.

It was the lying.

It was the hiding.

It was the fact that I had believed I knew everything about her—believed that she was the one person who would never make me feel like a fool—only to realize she had built our relationship on a secret.

And now, I had to decide if that was something I could move past.

But not tonight.

Not when my heart still ached with the weight of it all.

"Go home, Solené," I whispered.

She swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "Okay."

She turned then, walking away, her steps heavy. But before she reached her car, she stopped.

"I love you, Summer."

The words were soft. Barely audible.

But I heard them.

I closed my eyes, my chest tightening.

She got into her car.

I didn't watch her drive away.