Chapter 49 #2
“It’s just an idea, my love,” he croaks, brushing his thumb under my eye—catching a tear.
I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. My throat closing up with conflicting emotions.
I can’t seem to grasp which one will win—guilt or forgiveness.
“Oh Charlotte.”
In a blink, Theo gathers me in his arms. Settling me on his lap. His hands run up and down my spine with slow, measured strokes.
He wordlessly turns the pad over. But it doesn’t stop the hurt already building in my chest.
I’m not breaking. At least, not yet.
But the thought that I won’t ever get a chance to actually build a semblance of a relationship with Dane…
“It’s okay, baby,” Theo says, voice cracking. “It’s okay. I… I’m sorry you saw that.”
I let out a wet cough, my breath hitching as I try to pull myself together.
It’s then that I feel the wetness on my forehead. My head snaps up, leaning back. Only to freeze at the sight of silent tears streaming down Theo’s face.
The man didn’t make a single sound. No break in his breathing. Simply kept his arms wrapped around me—comforting me.
“Oh,” I whimper brokenly, pulling at the sleeves of my hoodie. My hands fumble, tugging them down until they swallow my fingers.
Then I lift them to his face, cupping him as gently as I can. I wipe at his tears carefully—so carefully—avoiding the healing bruises still scattered across his skin.
My chest constricts painfully, throat burning as I keep going, brushing away every tear he refuses to acknowledge. Until a muffled, wet laugh escapes him.
His large hand comes up, fingers tangling in the damp fabric of my sleeves as they’re still pressed to his face. “Thanks, baby,” he rasps, a soft, tired smile pulling at his lips. “I’m good now.”
My chin wobbles. I thump my fists lightly against his chest before shifting off his lap to sit beside him—my small, useless attempt at defiance. “You can’t cry,” I mutter.
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “Why? I’m sad. I can cry.”
Silence stretches.
“Wolf?” I ask in a whisper.
His smile falters. His throat works as he swallows hard, then he nods, sniffing as he drags his nose across my sleeve like a child.
I don’t even have it in me to protest.
“I kinda miss him,” he whispers, jaw tightening like the words are being dragged out of him.
We sit in silence after that.
I watch him pull himself back together piece by piece, like it costs him something every second.
Then he shifts away, just enough for the space between us to feel wrong.
Before I can even process the loss of warmth, he suddenly drops—awkward and heavy—his head landing in my lap. A soft breath leaves him, like the world is finally letting him rest. Like he’s letting it.
His eyes stay on mine.
My fingers move on instinct, brushing over the lines in his forehead, smoothing them out slowly.
He exhales again, deeper this time. “I used to be worse,” he murmurs after a while, voice quieter now. “Angrier.”
“Hard to imagine,” I drawl sarcastically.
He huffs. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly winning any awards for self-control.”
My lips twitch faintly.
“It was with Dane,” he continues, gaze drifting somewhere past me, “that I first realized I wasn’t… safe. Not really.”
There’s no self-pity in his tone. Just fact.
“I still wanted it, though,” he adds. “The patch. The position. I wanted to be his VP.” His jaw tightens. “I wanted to be better than what Savage taught us.”
My hand stills for a second before resuming its slow strokes. His eyes flicker back to mine. There’s something fragile there. A hint of restraint pulling at his words.
“Back then,” he goes on, albeit reluctantly, “when I lost it, I’d forget things, Charlotte. Bits and pieces. Like my brain just checked out.”
A small smirk tugs at my lips. “So am I to assume that you don’t remember the night you dragged—”
“I remember what I did, Charlotte.” His voice cuts through, firm. Not defensive, just resolute. “And no, don’t you ever forgive me for that.”
My chest tightens.
“But yeah, some parts are hazy,” he admits, quieter now.
There’s no relief in his confession. Just regret.
“I wanted that today,” he continues after a beat, voice breaking. “Wanted so badly for the rage to take over. Wanted to forget why they deserved what I was doing to them.”
A tear slips from the corner of his eye, sliding into his hair. “But I remember all of it,” he whispers. “Every second.”
Another tear follows.
“Even how empty it felt. Because it didn’t change anything.” His voice cracks. “They still hurt you. They still took Dane from us. They still won in so many ways.”
His breath shudders.
I don’t realize I’m crying too until a drop lands on his cheek. And he wordlessly wipes away my tears.
Silence stretches between us again.
“You’re very chatty now,” I mumble, trying—and failing—to lighten the weight pressing down on us.
He lets out a broken laugh, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’m just sharing, my love. Who else is gonna listen to my sorry ass?”
I sniffle. “I don’t know. Ryder? Hound? Literally anyone else. Even the club girls.”
He shakes his head, smiling faintly. “I’m not in love with any of them. I’m in love with y—mmph—”
I grab his mouth mid-sentence, squishing his lips together with my fingers.
“I got it,” I mutter. “Jeez.”
His laughter vibrates against my hand, muffled and warm.
I release him with a reluctant sigh.
“Fine,” he says, catching my hand and pressing it flat against his chest. His heartbeat thumps steadily beneath my palm. “I won’t keep saying it. I know it bothers you.”
Well, fuck.
I can’t take it back now.
Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe my heart will find a way to his, without the words scaring me away.
“I…” I hesitate. “I don’t not love you, you know.”
He frowns up at me. “Isn’t that a double negative? So it’s basically positive?
“No.” I deadpan. “It’s neutral. At best.”
He snorts. “Can I date you, at least? Neutrally, of course.”
I smack his chest lightly, and he gasps dramatically, clutching himself.
“Oh, do I wound you, Mr. Altman?”
“You sure do, Ms. Hayes,” he says, grinning like an idiot.
I roll my eyes—but I’m smiling too.
He shifts up slightly, one hand coming to cradle the back of my neck as he pulls me down.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, my love,” he whispers against my lips. “Kiss me back if you’re free for a date tomorrow.”
I smile, my gaze dropping to his lips. “Well, we’ll see now, won’t we?”
He groans, closing the breath of a distance. Like he already knows my answer.
The kiss starts slow—tentative—but it deepens quickly as it always does. Melting into something warm and steady. Something real.
And somehow, the darkness doesn’t feel quite so consuming in his arms.