24. Make Me Forget
Chapter twenty-four
Make Me Forget
Melina
My head throbs, a dull, relentless ache pulsing behind my eyes. Crying always leaves me with the worst sinus headaches—another cruel side effect of the emotional wreckage I’m barely holding together.
I sink my fingers to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut as if I can will the pain away.
Matt’s gaze lingers on me while I dig through my bag, fingers clumsy, until I find Advil. I toss three pills in my mouth and swallow them down with lukewarm water from a half-empty bottle, my throat tightening with all the things left unsaid.
I understand why he doesn’t want to know. God, if it were him, I wouldn’t want to know either. Still… for once, I trusted someone enough to speak my truth, and he shut it down without a second thought.
I press my palms against the counter, staring down at the granite until the speckles blur. I’m so tired—bone-deep, soul-deep—the kind of exhaustion no amount of sleep could touch.
Then warmth surrounds me. Matt’s arms slide around my waist, and I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He doesn’t speak, just pulls me in, chin settling against the top of my head. His hold is steady, anchoring, precisely what I hadn’t known I needed until now.
“Can I get you anything?” His voice is low, careful—like he’s afraid one wrong word might break me completely.I turn in his embrace, pressing my cheek against his chest. “I just… I don’t know what to do with myself,” I whisper.
“My thoughts won’t stop spinning. I think I need a shower—wash away all of this. ”
Matt nods, his hands sliding up and down my arms in slow, soothing strokes. “Of course. I’ll be right here when you get out.”
But the thought of being by myself, even for a few minutes, sends panic surging through me. My grip on his shirt tightens.
I shake my head, tugging on his hand, desperate. “I don’t want to be alone.”
His eyes soften instantly. No hesitation. “Okay.”
I may not be able to talk to him about all this, but he’s here—steady, unflinching. Maybe that’s all I can ask for. His presence is enough. For now, it has to be.
He follows me into the bathroom and shuts the door as I twist the faucet on. Water rushes, steam rising fast, curling into the air around us.
Matt sinks onto the closed toilet lid, his gaze never leaving me. I grasp the hem of my top, peel it off, and let it fall soundlessly to the floor.
My leggings and underwear follow, pooling at my feet. When I lift my gaze, I meet his—jaw tight, hands braced on his knees like he’s holding himself back. His stare presses into me, not just on my body but deeper, as if he can see every wound, every scar.
I turn away, stepping into the shower, but still feel him behind me—watching. Waiting. Not in the way he used to.
The hot water scalds my skin, pounding against me as if it can wash the weight away. For a moment, it almost does. But then the emptiness creeps in. Something is missing. The space between us feels impossibly vast. Unbearable. I need him close.
“Matty?” My voice comes out thin, barely carrying over the rush of water.
His head lifts. “Yeah?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Will you… come in here with me?”
An expression flickers across his face, unreadable. For a long, suspended moment, he doesn’t move—just watches me, every line of his body rigid, eyes dark with an emotion I can’t quite name.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he rises. Through the glass, I watch as he strips his shirt over his head in one swift motion. My pulse hammers. He unbuckles his belt, pushes his jeans and boxers down, and still—he hesitates.
His gaze finds mine, holding me there, raw and unspoken things crowding the space between us.
Then he steps inside. Steam curls around him, thick and heavy, the air charged with more than heat.
He keeps a careful distance, his whole body coiled—like he’s afraid if he gets too close he’ll break me. Or maybe he’s scared I’ll pull away.
I turn to face him, water running over me. “You’re afraid to touch me.” It isn’t a question.
His jaw clenches. “That isn’t true.”
“It is.” My voice cracks. “I can see it in your eyes, Matt. You see me differently now.”
Then he’s there, closing the gap so fast it steals the air from my lungs. His palms catch my face, tilting me up until his gaze pins me. His thumbs trace over the dampness on my skin, not gentle—desperate.
His eyes burn into me, unguarded. “I don’t see you differently,” he says, tone breaking low. “I see you. All of you. Every raw, broken piece—and it fucking kills me.”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. His words have reached places I’ve spent years trying to hide.
“The thought of losing you?” His forehead presses to mine, breath uneven against my lips. “I can’t bear it, Melina. I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anything. It terrifies me.”
A sob tears from my throat, my fingers curling into his chest, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping me upright. My breath hitches, my whole body trembling against his.
He loves me.
The confession sinks into me, winding through the fractured places, filling the cracks Darren left behind.
Tears blur my vision, spilling down my cheeks. My voice is barely a whisper. “I love you too.”
His arms crush me against him, his heartbeat pounding wildly beneath my ear. Water cascades, soaking and relentless, but neither of us moves.
For the first time in longer than I can remember, I think maybe—just maybe—I can find happiness again.
But happiness feels fragile, like glass balanced in my palms. I need more than the hope of it. More than a promise whispered in the dark.
Because the past still clings, heavy and cold, shadows sinking into my bones.
I need something stronger. I need him.
I swallow hard, my heart thundering as my fingers trail over his stomach. The taut ridges of his abs flex beneath my touch, his breath catching.
“Melina,” he murmurs, rough and thick with restraint. His hands close gently around my wrists, halting me. “You don’t have to prove anything.” His eyes sharpen. “I want you. Right now. Always.”
A lump rises in my throat. God, I love him for that. But this isn’t about proving anything. It isn’t about power. It’s about escape—losing myself in him, drowning in his touch until nothing else exists but us.
“It’s not that, Matty,” I whisper, my lips hovering inches from his. “I need you to erase it. Make me forget. Take it all away.”
His exhale, body shuddering beneath my hands. “Mel—”
I cut him off with my mouth. A desperate kiss. A plea.
For a split second, he resists, his fingers digging into my wrists like he might push me back. But then he breaks. A guttural groan rips from his chest as his grip shifts, sliding up my arms, over my shoulders, tangling in my wet hair as he finally kisses me back.
And fuck, does he kiss me back.
It isn’t soft. It isn’t careful. It’s wild. Consuming. Every ounce of pain, love, and desperation slamming into us like a tidal wave. His tongue tangles with mine, pulling a whimper from deep inside me.
His hands are everywhere—gripping, caressing, devouring. One slides down the curve of my spine, seizing my ass and yanking me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth at the hard press of him against my stomach, heat curling low and fierce inside me.
“Fuck, Melina,” he rasps against my lips. “Are you sure?”
I answer with my body, arching into him as his strength cages me against the cool tile. All I can feel is him—solid muscle, unyielding hands gripping my thighs as he lifts me effortlessly.
“Wrap your legs around me, sweetheart,” he growls against my lips.
I obey, a broken moan spilling out as the thick, rigid length of him presses hard against my slick heat.
“Matty,” I whimper, grinding against him, desperate. “Please.”
His forehead rests against mine, breath ragged, eyes burning into me. “I’ve got you, baby. Always.”
And then, with one fierce thrust, he’s inside me.
A strangled cry rips from my throat as he fills and stretches me, all-consuming. He freezes, trembling, his grip on my hips punishing as he fights for control. But I don’t want him controlled. I want him wild. Reckless. I dig my nails into his shoulders and rock against him, desperate for more.
“Jesus, Melina,” he groans, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good.”
He moves, slow at first, dragging out the pleasure until I’m gasping, begging. Then something in him snaps, restraint breaking like a rubber band pulled too tight.
His pace turns hard, desperate, relentless. Every thrust drives me higher, every brush of his lips against my neck sends fire tearing through my veins. I cling to him, his name falling from my lips like a prayer.
“Matt—oh my God—”
“Let go. Just let go.” He pants, forehead pressed to mine.
And fuck, I do.
Pleasure rips through me, shattering me from the inside out. My body convulses around him, pulling him deeper, until with a guttural growl, he follows, his release flooding into me as he crushes me against the tile.
We stay there, tangled and breathless, steam wrapping us in a cocoon. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t let go. His lips find my temple, rough, almost desperate. His voice scrapes out, raw and uneven— “I love you.”
My heart lurches, the world narrowing to him. I tilt my head back, finding only fierce, unshakable truth in his gaze.“I love you too, Matty,” I whisper, sealing it with a kiss.
***
Now that we know Darren is responsible, I have to tell the kids. Not everything—but enough to keep them safe.
I sit Spencer down first, keeping my voice soft. “Sweetheart, I need you to look at something.” I pull up a picture of Darren on my phone and hold it out. “Have you ever seen this man before?”
Spencer studies the screen, small brows knitting. “I don’t think so.” His eyes find mine. “He looks like Declan.”
Something cold twists in my chest. I swallow. “I know he does.”