Her eyes say what her words can’t quite capture: sometimes, the scars that stay with you forever are the ones you can’t see. The ones that linger underneath your skin, masquerading under the pretense of strength.
I pull her forward and crash my lips into hers.
She groans at the sudden contact, but it takes several long seconds before she starts trying to shove me off her. Even when she manages to tear her lips from mine, her eyes betray her.
“Make me believe that’s what you want.”
She shakes her head. “I left. I walked out. It’s unfair of you to come back now. And for what? For what?”
What the hell do I tell her?
That meeting Jo doesn’t feel right unless she’s there, too? If I tell her that now, she will rage and storm and topple all my plans.
She hit the nail on the head before: I
