I left Valentine’s with just enough time to pick up some groceries on the way home, shower, and be at my parents’ place for dinner.
I hadn’t planned to spend most of my weekend with him, but I wasn’t mad about it.
In fact, I kinda liked it.
And when he’d been so nervous to ask me if I wanted to come back to his place . . . how could I say no? It was sweet.
He was sweet, whether he wanted to be or not. He liked to cuddle, whether he ever wanted to admit that or not. He liked the company, as much as the old Valentine would dispute that.
But this new Valentine? And he was a new Valentine. He wasn’t the cold and distant arsehole he’d pretended to be anymore. Not with me, anyway.
And I wasn’t mad that Lleyton knew about us. I kinda liked that too.
It was less pressure, less stress, and I trusted Lleyton to keep the secret for Valentine’s sake. And I think part of Valentine needed Lleyton to know.
He’d covered some personal ground in the last few weeks. First telling his sister he was gay, then Lleyton finding out about us . . .
I’d heard most of their phone conversation. It had been hard to not hear it with him sitting between my legs. I’d heard Lleyton admit I wasn’t a jerk, that he liked how I’d looked after him.
I’d heard him say something about a relationship and then I’d heard him say, “He’s got it bad for you,” and my heart damned near stopped. I expected Valentine to get defensive or mad, even.
At least deny it.
But he just shook his head, his cheeks red. Then he’d pouted, that perfect bottom lip, the colour still heating his cheeks, and damn . . .
Every part of me wanted him.
My dick always wanted him. That was nothing new. But now my heart was leading the race.
I knew he’d never be prepared to give this thing between us a name. Lleyton had said relationship, and I’d be only too happy to call it that. Valentine had called it an agreement, which it was.
I guessed all relationships were an agreement of sorts.
But we were well past the enemies-with-benefits label now.
He’d been his usual professional self at the Monday morning manager’s meeting, like he hadn’t taken my cock for hours just the day before, like he hadn’t begged me to come inside him, and I was disappointed he didn’t call me in for a private meeting afterwards.
But he did come to my place on Wednesday night instead of me going to his. We cooked dinner again, which was basically an hour of foreplay, and after we’d eaten, I took him to my bed where I drove him crazy, mapping out his body, taking him torturously slow, and drawing every drop of pleasure out of him.
On Saturday, after our rugby matches, all teams went back to our local pub. Me, Taka, and the boys were already there, them being mostly drunk and rowdy. I was sober and laughing at their stupid arses when the Lane Cove boys came in.
Lleyton walked in with Valentine one step behind him, and I did my best to ignore them. Lleyton’s eyes met mine and I gave him a small nod and turned back around.
After a while, Taka nudged my shoulder. “What did you do?”
“To who?”
He glanced over my shoulder, then back to me. “Who do you think? Just wondering why his best friend keeps looking at you.”
I sighed. “He knows. He found out last week. Valentine got maggotted, Lleyton took him home, and I was there. Kinda no hiding from that.”
Taka laughed. “Oh, to be a fly on the wall.”
I laughed and sipped my water. “It went okay. Surprisingly.”
He stared at me for a while, kinda smiling.
“What?”
“Bro.”
“Bro, what?”
“How long you gonna pretend you hate the guy? Because I’m pretty sure the reason you been smiling these last few weeks is the opposite of hate.”
I rolled my eyes, dismissing what he was implying, but deep down I knew he was right. Hell, it wasn’t even deep down anymore. It was just under the surface.
I sipped my drink. “Like I said before, it’s complicated.”
“And like I said before, it doesn’t have to be.”
Except it was, and it did.
In the end, I sighed. “Yeah, I dunno. It just is what it is.”
“Hey, Wise,” a voice said.
I turned around to find some guy I didn’t recognise. He was with the team we’d played against and beaten. He looked drunk and messy, holding a rum and Coke, staring at me like I was shit on his shoe.
So I returned the favour. “What?”
“You think you can just put a hit on someone and get away with it?”
I snorted. “A hit? The fuck you talking about?”
“Wallace,” he said with a sneer. “You busted his nose.”
Wallace? I tried to recall, with no luck. I didn’t break anyone’s nose today. “Who?”
He now had two friends beside him and clearly felt a whole lot braver. “You know who.”
“I really don’t. But if I did, then he deserved it.”
Taka nodded beside me. “Wallace. Burwood, second row. Number four.”
Ohhh.
I laughed and locked eyes with Drunk McIdiot. “Oh, yeah. He deserved it.”
He bristled immediately, puffed his chest out, clenched his jaw, frothed at the mouth a little. One guy beside him held his arm and mumbled something, and we had quite an audience now.
“You wanna fucking go?” he said, being held back by his friends. He had the crazy eyes, spilling his drink. “I’ll fucking give you what you deserve.”
Not taking my eyes off him, I put my glass of water on the bar. “Look, mate. I’m really not in the mood to fight tonight, but because you asked so nicely.” I took a step towards him, my fist clenched and ready . . .
Then security stepped in and shoved the idiot towards the door. His friends went with him and some of his teammates ushered him outside, offering an apologetic wave on the way out. The other half of his team ignored him, so that told me all I needed to know.
The crowd around us, mostly my team who had my back, all seemed to exhale and relax, going back to their conversations. Except for Taka. He still stood at the bar with his drink in his hand, laughing. “Asked you nicely,” he repeated, laughing again.
I risked a glance at Valentine and he was watching me. So was Lleyton. Actually most of his team were. Mostly curious, none seemed disgusted or angry. But Valentine was smirking.
I turned back to the bar.
“Tell me,” Taka said quietly. “What’s gonna happen between you and your man when we play them again next time?”
“My man?”
“Want me to say his name out loud?”
“No.”
He held up two fingers around his beer bottle. “Two weeks, my friend. We play Lane Cove in two weeks. And we’re undefeated and they’ve only lost to us. You know what that means.”
It wasn’t a question, because of course I knew.
It was going to be a North Ryde, Lane Cove final.
Me against Valentine.
“And let’s not mention work,” Taka added. He was getting far too much enjoyment out of this. “The Mercer contract will be finished in two months. Whatcha gonna do about that?”
“About what?”
“You were gonna quit or burn down head office. I can’t remember which.”
I snorted and let out a sigh. “Fuck. I dunno.” I met his gaze. “I don’t know.”
He clapped my shoulder, bumping me into the bar. “You ain’t leaving me and you ain’t leaving him. Deny it all you fucking want. I know you, bro. And I know you ain’t ever been like this with anyone else.”
Goddammit.
I took a twenty out of my wallet and held it up for the barman. “Get Taka whatever he wants,” I said. “And some superglue so he’ll shut the fuck up.” I clapped Taka on the back. “See you Monday.”
I stepped out into the cold night and headed towards my ute parked up the street. There was a figure in the shadows and for a second I thought it might have been Scrooge McDrunk looking for that fight he so badly wanted. My heart rate kicked up a notch, but Valentine stepped out of the dark.
My pulse quickened for a whole different reason.
“Evening,” he said smoothly.
Grinning, I unlocked the doors and caught him trying not to smile as he got in. And funnily enough, all the uncertainty about what we were and what kind of future we did or didn’t have didn’t seem to matter.
That smile, that giddy feeling, that was all I needed.
“So you were popular tonight,” he said as I began the drive to his place.
“Who? The guy who wanted me to break his nose?”
Valentine chuckled. “I think he liked you.”
I snorted. “What can I say? I have that effect on people.”
His phone buzzed a few times and he pulled it out of his jacket. I saw a quick glimpse of a lot of messages, but he sighed and switched his phone to do not disturb.
“Not gonna deal with any of that?”
“It’s all work,” he said. “And no. There is nothing that can’t wait. It’s Saturday night.” He let his head fall back onto the headrest. “It never stops.”
“Fun, huh?”
He shook his head and looked over at me, his face half-shadow, half-blue in the light of the dash. “Not really.”
“Did you have a good game today?”
“Mm, I played okay. No MVP this week though.”
“No shots of tequila?”
“God no.” He made a face. “Why would you even say that?”
That made me laugh. “You’re cute when you’re hungover.”
He glared at me for that. “I thought we agreed to never speak of it again.”
I chuckled. “You know Taka brought up a good point tonight,” I said. “We’re rostered to play against each other in two weeks.”
“Do you need to mentally prepare yourself for losing? Is two weeks long enough?”
I scoffed. “Oh, please. We’ll flog you. But you know what that’s like, right? We have beaten you twice this year already.”
He smirked. “Only one of those games counted. So why did Taka feel the need to bring it up now?”
“I think he thought I’d forgotten.” I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “And he thinks I’m gonna let my team down by taking it easy on you.”
That made him laugh. “He clearly doesn’t know that you taking it easy on me is not what we do.”
I snorted. “Ah, no, he doesn’t know that.”
When we walked into his building and then into the elevator, I smiled at his reflection, and he smiled back before he ducked his head. And damn, if his cheeks didn’t turn pink. It rattled my heart and my lungs felt too big for my chest, and suddenly the elevator seemed so small it was a relief when the doors opened.
He unlocked his door and held it for me. Enzo ran over, yelling at us and winding himself around my feet. I picked him up. “Look, little dude, I know you’re not starving, so you can quit the act.”
I put him on the kitchen counter, despite knowing it annoyed Valentine, got his biscuits out of the pantry, and filled his bowl. I slid the bag of cat food back onto the shelf, just thankful for the silence, and when I turned around, Valentine was standing there, smiling at me.
His arms weren’t crossed. He had his hands on the counter behind him, and he looked relaxed and sexy as fuck in that black sweater. And wait . . .
I went to him, my fingers under his chin, and inspected his cheekbone. “Is that a bruise?”
He laughed. “It’s a slight bump. You know, because I play rugby.”
I tried to tamp down the flare of anger. “Who did it?”
He raised his eyebrows and laughed. “As if I’d tell you! So you could line him up sometime and take his head off.”
“I don’t like the idea of anyone else’s hands on you.”
His eyes sparked with amusement and fire. “I hate to break it to you, but I get touched a lot during a game.”
I growled. “I’ll do the manhandling, thanks.”
He seemed to like this game. “Just like you get manhandled. In tackles, rucks, scrums. You don’t see me complaining.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Oh god.” He rolled his eyes. “Then you’re really not gonna like this.” He grinned as he lifted his sweater, revealing his abs and . . . a scrape of sprig marks across his ribs.
I knew these were common in rugby. I’d had them countless times and I’d given my share too. I knew they didn’t really hurt too much . . . but it rankled me to see them on him.
That anyone would do this to him.
I gently touched the reddened skin. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Do your ribs hurt? Who did this to you?”
He smirked at me. “I don’t know.” He laughed when I glowered at him. “I mean it. It’s hard to see who’s stomping when you’re the one on the ground.”
Yeah, that kinda wasn’t helping.
He pulled his sweater back down and took my hand. “You going all Neanderthal and wanting to take down anyone who hurts me is very caveman of you.”
He was probably expecting me to burr at the word caveman and maybe throw him over my shoulder and take him to bed . . . but he was still holding my hand. I couldn’t stop staring at how his long fingers interlocked so perfectly with mine. How nice it felt.
“This is the first time you’ve held my hand,” I murmured.
He dropped my hand and shoved my shoulder. “Until you made it weird.”
I snatched his hand back, clasping it in mine. “I didn’t make it weird.”
His dark eyes met mine, full of light and something I didn’t dare name. Then he leaned up on his toes and gently pecked his lips to mine.
Holy shit.
“Second time you’ve kissed me,” I murmured.
“Are you keeping tabs?”
Had I really been keeping tabs on that?
Apparently I had.
He studied my eyes. “Want me to kiss you some more, Marshall?”
“Yes.”
He took his hand from mine and slid it up to my jaw. His palm was warm, his touch electric—his eyes intense, flickers of fear and fire—and he brought my lips to his as his eyelids fluttered shut.
Soft and warm, I inhaled sharply at the sweetness. He took my bottom lip in between his, gently tugging me closer so he could deepen the kiss. I let him lead, let him do whatever he wanted.
There was a tenderness to Valentine I wasn’t expecting, and it squeezed my heart, made my knees weak. His fingers tangled through my hair and slid down my back, pulling me flush against him.
I wanted to hold his face and devour his mouth, but I didn’t want to ruin this . . . whatever this was. When he pressed his forehead to mine and took a few deep breaths, I half expected him to demand I fuck him hard.
But no, not this Valentine.
“I want to ride you,” he murmured, trailing his nose along my jaw until his lips met my ear. “Marshall.”
My breath hitched and sweet mother of god, how he said my name.
It took every ounce of control I had not to grip him, take him, and fuck him. “Say it again,” I whispered.
He breathed in my ear. “Marshall.”
A shiver of cold fire ran through me.
Holy fuck.
He chuckled. “Will you let me ride you?”
I’d have let him do anything he fucking wanted to me at that moment. “Anything you want.”
He grinned like a demon, but then he took me to bed. He stripped me slowly and pushed me onto the mattress, and he did exactly what he said he was going to do.
He sank himself down on my cock and rode me, slow and deep. He was in charge, and he was glorious. Seeing him on top of me, seeing his head thrown back in pleasure.
He controlled everything: pace, touch, the way he kissed me. He controlled me like a puppet on a string. I fully surrendered to him, to his power over me, and when he begged me to come inside him, I surrendered that as well.
I woke up facing him. He looked so peaceful in the dark room, faint light coming in from the hall and the door we’d left ajar. He looked younger, his long lashes, his pale skin and pink lips, his dark hair tousled.
I could stare at him forever.
You’re supposed to hate him.
Yeah. But I don’t.
I haven’t for a long time.
“Are you watching me sleep?” he mumbled, a smile tugging at his lip. His eyes cracked open. “’S fucking creepy.”
I chuckled and pulled him into my arms, his head on my shoulder. He protested for half a second, but I held him tight, and he sighed into submission.
“Still don’t like you,” he mumbled as he snuggled in closer.
“Still don’t like you either.”
I was already looking forward to Wednesday night. From the moment I left him on Sunday, I was already counting down the minutes until I saw him again. Was alone with him again.
He was fine on Monday morning at the manager’s meeting. Trying not to smile and trying his hardest to ignore me, not look at me, and definitely trying to not make eye contact.
It was a rush. A thrill that made my heart gallop. That made me happy, walking around with a dumb-arse smile on my face, and not even giving one single fuck about all the jokes Taka threw at me.
I was too happy to care.
On Tuesday after work, I texted Valentine in hopes it would lead to an early invitation to come over.
What are you cooking for dinner tomorrow night?
His reply came through about an hour later.
A nine-inch-deep, deep pan pizza. Scheduled for delivery around 7pm. It better not be late.
I laughed and my dick started to fill at the mere thought. I was hoping he’d take the bait and ask me to come over. But nope.
You can have it delivered tonight if you’d prefer.
I wish. I’m in the city tonight for a meeting.
Bummer. My dick deflated.
Fun?
No.
So Enzo’s at home by himself?
My phone rang. “Are you more concerned about him than me?”
“Yes. You have the ability to feed yourself.” Then I thought about it. “Even though you don’t. Have you had dinner?”
Valentine sighed. “I know you might find this difficult to believe, but I’m capable of eating. Yes. I’m at a restaurant right now. Well, I’m outside speaking to you. I told them I had an important call to make.”
“This is an important call.”
He chuckled. “It’s a dinner meeting. Budgets and finance.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It’s supposed to be a low-key informal thing.”
“Ah. The greasing of wheels.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I’ll be greasing your wheels tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. I think there’ll be two courses of your deep, deep pan pizza. I’ll be feeding you twice. First course, then you can feed me actual food. Your second course will be served after.”
“Christ. Now I have to go back inside with a semi. This is great, thanks for that.”
I laughed and disconnected the call. Making him suffer a little bit was all part of the fun. The anticipation, the desire.
And Wednesday at work almost killed me. It was supposed to be anticipation for him, not me, but holy shit, I wanted inside him so bad. I had to jerk off in the shower before work so I didn’t have a hard-on all day. Short of strapping my dick down with duct tape, it wasn’t something I could easily hide.
By the time we’d called it a day and I got home, I considered jerking off again, but remembered I’d offered him a double dicking so thought it was best to save the first one.
Except when I was getting ready to leave for his place, I got a text.
Sorry to cancel. Tonight’s not a good idea. I’m sorry.
I read it and read it a dozen times. I waited for the punchline. I waited for another text, an explanation.
I got neither.
I hit Call.
It rang and rang and I wondered if he’d answer at all.
If he was okay.
He certainly didn’t sound it.
Tonight’s not a good idea. What the fuck did that mean?
He answered just before it rang out, but he said nothing.
“Hey, Valentine?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
He sighed. His voice was distant, quiet. “It hasn’t been a good day. I’m not up for . . . anything. Sorry . . . I’m sorry, Marshall.”
“Don’t apologise,” I said. “Are you okay?”
I heard him swallow. “I wouldn’t be very good company tonight.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he let out a long breath. “Can we just forget about tonight, please? It wouldn’t be anything good. I’ll call you tomorrow or something.”
“Valentine.”
“I’m fine.”
I hated those two words. Because he was not fine.
“I have to go,” he mumbled, and the line went dead.
I grabbed my keys, pulled my door shut behind me, and made it to his place in record time. I pressed his buzzer, and when he didn’t answer, I kept my hand on it. I knew he could see me. I looked up at the camera and kept my hand on the buzzer, and a few seconds later the door clicked.
I thumped the elevator door button and cursed every second it took to get to his floor. Though he opened his door when I got to it, so at least I didn’t have to break it down.
He was still in his work suit, his head down.
“What are you doing here, Marshall? I asked you not to come.”
“Because something’s wrong. Because you need someone, that’s what I’m doing here.”
He scowled and turned for his kitchen. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, you don’t. You need . . . a friend.”
He got to the kitchen counter and sighed. “Is that what you are?”
Oh boy.
Okay, here goes nothing. I probably wasn’t ready to do this but it was now or never. I was putting my cards on the table, consequences be damned.
“I . . . I don’t know what I am. I don’t know what we are. But you sounded so miserable I just couldn’t stand the idea of you being alone. We don’t need to do anything tonight. But just let me stay with you. If you need to talk—”
“I don’t need to talk!” He raked his hand through his hair, frustrated and angry. “Christ, Marshall. I had a bad day, so fucking what?”
A bad day.
I’d seen him have bad days before. Hell, I’d even enjoyed his misery. I’d walked in here before, saw that he’d clearly had a bad day, and made him get on his knees and suck my dick.
He’d loved it, and I’d left him with a smile on his face, but still.
Now, I wanted to heal him in other ways.
“You can talk to me,” I tried again.
His eyes were wild, bewildered. “I don’t need to fucking talk. You know why I cancelled on you tonight? Because what I wanted so fucking bad was for you to hurt me. Like really hurt me, Marshall. And I knew it’d be fucked up. I didn’t want you to have to go through that.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Valentine,” I murmured, reaching for him.
He took a step back, as if touching him right now was a bad, bad idea. He put his hand up, telling me not to come any closer.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” he whispered. “Christ, Marshall, why did you have to come here tonight?”
“Because you need me.”
He scoffed. “I do fucking not. I don’t need anyone.”
“That’s not true,” I offered gently. “You need to speak to someone, Valentine.”
His eyes flashed with anger, his nostrils flared. I’d struck a nerve. Clearly. “I do not need a shrink.” He was seething mad. “I don’t need some pretentious doctor to autopsy my trauma once a week. Been there, done that, and fuck it all to hell. I know what my faults are. I know how I am isn’t my fault. I’m a product of my parents’ fuckups. I know the public scrutiny doesn’t help. I know all this. I know every line a shrink can throw at me, and I know how to deal with it.”
“Valentine . . .”
“I know how to deal with it, Marshall, for what suits me best. I know what works for me. I’ve been on my own forever, and that’s how I like it. I know how to function. I know how to survive, how to be on my own.”
I put my hand to his cheek. “You don’t have to be on your own anymore.”
He pulled his face back. “I don’t need you.”
“Well, too bad. You’ve got me.”
“I don’t want you.”
“I said too fucking bad.”
He pushed me backwards, shoving me hard. “Marshall, I swear to god, don’t start this with me.”
He needed to break. He needed me to push him past his limit, to let the pressure out before he exploded.
So I got in his face, gripped his shirt. “Or what?”
Valentine pushed me, ripping my hand from his shirt and shoving me backwards. “Or I’ll fucking end it. This, whatever the fuck this is.”
I pushed him back so hard he took a step back to brace himself, then he launched at me, trying to tackle, wrestle me. Trying to hurt me. Hurt me like he was hurting.
But I was bigger and stronger. I countered his attack, using his swinging arm to turn him around and shove him against the wall. His arm bent behind him. I used my entire body to pin him to the wall.
I breathed against the back of his neck. “You won’t end us,” I murmured. “Because you need me. You need this as much as I do.”
He struggled and I held him tighter, pressing him harder against the wall. “I don’t . . .” he said. “I don’t want you.”
I never budged, never lessened my hold. “No. You don’t want to want me. You don’t want to need me. But you do.”
Valentine shook his head. “No.”
“And I don’t want to want you either,” I murmured. “But I do.”
He struggled again but I held him firm. “Let go of me,” he hissed.
“No.”
“We’re finished. This agreement is over.”
“No it’s not. We’re far from over.”
Valentine pushed and fought, trying to twist out of my hold. So I spun him around and pinned his arms to the wall up above our heads, our faces just an inch apart.
He was livid. Furious and . . . and scared.
“The fuck are you doing, Marshall?”
“I’m trying to make you see.”
He struggled again. “See what?”
“To see that you’re worth it. That you’re—”
“Enough!” he pushed me hard, for real this time, with fire and fear in his eyes, and it honestly scared me.
I let him go.
There were a few feet between us now, both our chests heaving, the air charged with static between us.
He sneered at me. “You don’t know shit about me. You think you can come into my life—”
“I know what you need. I know what you think you need, and I know you’re wrong.”
“You don’t know shit,” he spat. “I just like rough sex. There’s nothing fucking wrong with that. I like to be held down and—”
“I’m not talking about sex!”
Valentine stopped. “Then what the fuck are you even on about? That’s all this is.”
“It is not and you know it, Valentine. Jesus fucking Christ.” I ran my hand through my hair, pulling at the strands. I wanted to rip it out of my head. Goddammit. “You and me, we’re way past that, don’t you think? You need me in your life, and that scares you because you’ve had your first taste of something good and it scares the fuck out of you.”
He shook his head, his eyes wide and glassy. “No.”
“Bullshit. You cannot lie to me.”
“I don’t need anything—”
“You need me!” I yelled at him. Every ounce of frustration, of emotion, burst inside me. God, I wanted to throttle him, to wrap my hands around his throat, to pummel the shit outta him. But he was so broken.
I wanted to hold him. To kiss him, to hold him tight and tell him it was okay.
My voice was just a whisper. “You need me to love you and it terrifies you.”
Valentine shook his head, tears in his eyes. “You’re supposed to hate me. That was the deal. You’re supposed to hate me.”
“I do,” I murmured.
Valentine recoiled, confused.
Close to breaking.
“I hate a lot of things about you,” I said quietly. “I hate that you think so little of yourself when I think you’re kinda great. I hate that your parents cast you aside and use you, and they make you feel worthless when everything you do is for them. I hate that you put up these walls of ice like you need to protect yourself. I hate that you—”
Valentine thumped his chest, a tear spilling down his cheek. “Me. You’re supposed to hate me!”
“I hate that I don’t hate you anymore.”
Another tear fell and Valentine scrubbed it away. “You know what? Fuck you.”
I wrapped my arms around him, and Valentine tried to struggle out of my hold but there was no fight in him. No fight in him at all.
So I held him tighter, and Valentine sobbed in my arms. He cried and cried and let me take his weight. “Fuck you,” he mumbled through his tears. “Fuck you for doing this to me.”
I nodded. “I know.”
He wriggled in my arms, trying to break free, so I gave him some room but kept my hands on his shoulders. He wouldn’t look at me. “You were never supposed to do this. I was doing fine before you came into my life. I knew how to not feel anything, and I had a lid on it, then you fucked it all up.”
He needed to vent. He needed to get this out.
Valentine scrubbed another tear from his face. His eyes met mine and he sniffled as he thumped his fist to my chest. “Who the hell do you think you are? You were just supposed to be a regular fuck. Nothing else. You were supposed to hate me.”
“I used to,” I whispered.
“But you don’t anymore,” he asked. It wasn’t a question.
I shook my head.
Valentine’s chin wobbled and fresh tears fell. “Then we’re over. This is done. Whatever the fuck this was. It won’t work.”
I shook my head and put his arms back around him. “We’re not finished. Not until you give me a better reason. A real reason.”
“I don’t want you. I don’t need you,” Valentine mumbled.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m better off without you.”
I sighed. “If you really want me gone, if you really don’t want me to love you, then tell me you don’t want me to love you and I’ll go. I’ll walk out right now.”
Valentine sobbed. “I don’t want you to love me,” he whispered as he cried.
I dropped my arms, letting him go, and took a step back, ready to turn and walk away. Not wanting to.
Leaving him was the last thing I wanted to do.
But if Valentine didn’t want me . . . if he didn’t think we had anything left to salvage . . . Maybe he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’d never be ready.
“Okay,” I whispered, tears in my eyes. “I can’t make you love me. But I can love you. I know you think you’re not loveable, or you’re not worth worthy of it, but you are.” God, my heart hurt so damn much. “I wish I could make you see that.”
I took a reluctant step away, and he grabbed my shirt, fisting it tight. He kept his head down, but he shook his head and sobbed.
Oh, Valentine.
“I don’t know what I want,” he whispered, crying.
I put my hands to Valentine’s face and made him look at me. “You’ll be okay.”
Valentine nodded, more tears falling. “I don’t know what . . . I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do this. This is your fault. I was fine before you came along. I never needed anyone until you.”
I pulled him into my arms, wrapping him up tight and kissing the side of his head. He was letting himself feel emotions, giving into them. It was hardly surprising that he was confused and felt exposed and vulnerable. But, piece by piece, those ice walls were slowly coming down.
“I know,” I murmured. “But I’m not sorry. And I’m not going anywhere.”
