Chapter 12 #2
In two days, we’re supposed to stand beside our best friends and smile and toast to love and forever. And all I can think is how the hell am I going to pretend to be whole when I’m splintering apart inside?
Because I’m losing her. I feel it every time I look at her and see the fear in her eyes. I feel it in the way her fingers hover before finally smoothing the crease from my brow, gentle and tentative, as if she’s afraid I might shatter if she makes one wrong move.
It makes me want to fucking scream.
Because she’s right. We can’t. I know that. But God, I’m so fucking tired. Tired of secrets. Tired of pretending like I’m okay with marrying someone else while the only woman I want is lying right here, close enough to touch but somehow already gone.
She’s looking at me like I’m beautiful. Like I’m worth saving. And it kills me because I’m not. I’m dangerous, and fucked up, and carrying too many secrets. And no matter how many times I try to drown them in vodka, they’re still there when the bottle’s empty.
“Lil’… don’t make me do this. It’ll fuckin’ kill me.” My voice is raw between us.
“They’ll never let us go quietly,” she whispers, her voice breaking around the words. “You know that, baby. Please… don’t make this hurt more than it already does.”
Her eyes shimmer like she’s on the edge of tears. And fuck me, it feels like my ribs are caving in.
Because this does hurt. It hurts in ways I don’t even have words for.
The stolen moments, the secrecy, the taste of her skin still on my lips, and the emptiness waiting for me after. It’s not enough and too much at the same time.
I look at her, and all I can think of is how fucking cruel it is that the one person who makes me feel like there’s still something good left in me… is the one person I’m not allowed to have.
We made our choices. And no matter how many nights I lie awake trying to rewrite our future, I know the truth.
Dreams don’t mean shit in our world.
Hope is a luxury for people who don’t have blood on their hands.
And wishes?
Fucking worthless.
Watching Owen marry Cora should’ve been the ultimate celebration. After all this time, seeing my best friend marry his girl should’ve felt like the start of something beautiful, like maybe there’s hope for the rest of us, too.
But all I can think about is how fucking far away Lily feels from me right now.
She’s across the room, bathed in the glow of fairy lights strung over the dance floor, laughing too loudly at something Abbie said.
She’s swirling champagne in her glass like she can drown herself in bubbles and forget I exist. And every time her eyes skim past me, she flinches like I’m radioactive.
She’s scream-singing Taylor Swift with the other daughters of the Points like nothing happened. Like I didn’t look her in the eyes two nights ago and whisper that it would fucking kill me to let her go.
I can’t breathe. My chest feels too tight, the expectations are pressing in from all sides, and I’m running out of time by the second.
And it sure as shit doesn't help that every time I so much as inch closer to her, she flinches. Or that Abbie is busy glaring at me from across the dance floor, like she knows exactly what I’ve done and like she might gut me for it.
But hell, I don’t even know what the fuck I did wrong besides loving her.
“You good?” Owen comes to a stop beside me, handing me a glass of something amber and sharp. His wedding band flashes under the twinkling lights like a neon sign screaming happily ever after.
I stare at that ring and feel my chest tighten. I want what he has.
Or what I thought I had, for five fucking seconds.
But today’s meant to be the happiest day of his life, so I lie. I play the role of joker, of best friend. Like I always do.
“Yeah, man. I’m perfect.”
I clap him on the back and toast him before downing half the drink in one swallow. I keep my eyes away from Lily because every time I look at her, it feels like I’m peeling open a wound that refuses to close. Soon the amber liquid is gone, and a new glass is pressed into my hand—vodka this time.
The vodka blurs the edges of everything but her.
I try to distract myself. Smile at the other soldiers, entertain the kids. Dip my chin at Jonathan. Pretend I’m one of them—a loyal son, content to marry Gianna Salvatore and live the life mapped out for me since birth.
But under my suit, my skin crawls, and my pulse stutters.
Because she’s not just the girl I love. She’s the only piece of me that ever felt real.
When I see her slip away from the dance floor, ducking into the bathroom, I follow without thinking.
Muscle memory, instinct, desperation—whatever it is, it leads me straight to her.
The women’s bathroom glows like a jewellery box—soft gold light pooling over marble counters and sleek mirrors that reflect a version of me I barely recognise.
There she is, bent over the sink, splashing cold water on her face like she’s trying to wash away more than just sweat.
Her shoulders tremble, like every inch of her fights to hold together while quietly breaking apart all at once.
I lock the door behind me, not willing to let her slip away again—not this time.
She spins around with wide eyes that flicker with fear and something deeper, something like guilt tangled in the shadows. “You can’t be in here,” she says, voice sharp but cracking around the edges, a fragile sound barely holding itself together.
“When has that ever stopped us?” I ask, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal on the edge of running.
She takes a step back, her palms flattening against the cold marble, her pulse fluttering so visibly at her throat I can almost hear it. She looks like she’s trying to keep herself above water, but the weight drags her under.
“What’s going on, baby?” I ask, voice low and rough, hoarse from holding back everything I want to say but can’t quite find the courage for.
Her eyes burn with something wild—pain, regret, and love tangled up in a way I can’t untangle.
“We have to stop this,” she whispers, swallowing hard as if the words are bitter poison. “Don’t you see? It’s only going to end in heartbreak.”
That hits me harder than I want to admit because deep down, I’ve been trying not to say it out loud either. I reach for her, voice barely a whisper. “What changed? You told me you wanted this.”
Her voice breaks, fragile as glass. “I did. I do. But it doesn’t matter, none of this matters. We don’t get to decide, Matt. They do.”
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, and her mouth trembles like she’s on the verge of shattering completely. It crushes me because while I’ve been begging her to stay, she’s drowning in silence, swallowed whole by a world I can’t save her from.
All I want is to take that pain from her, carry it inside me where it can’t touch her anymore.
I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking under the weight of everything I feel. “Just once more. Please.”
And then I kiss her before she can talk sense into me.
Her fists pound against my chest, as if she wants to push me away, but instead, her fingers tangle in my lapels, pulling me closer, desperate and furious all at once. Her lips part against mine with a broken gasp, and in that instant, I’m lost.
I kiss her like if I press my mouth hard enough against hers, we can both disappear—forget the world, forget everything that’s trapping us. Like I can fuse us together, so irreversibly tangled that no one could ever come between us, no one could pull us apart.
“I hate you,” she breathes against me, voice trembling. “I fucking hate that I love you.”
“Then ruin me,” I whisper back, voice shaking with need and raw desperation. “Right here, right now. Show me how much you hate me, I can take it.”
She yanks at my belt, her nails digging into my hips. My hands slip under the silk of her dress, finding lace and heat that leave me breathless. She’s soaked and trembling in my grasp.
I curse under my breath.
Her head falls back, baring her throat in a silent invitation, and I don’t hesitate. “Fuck, Matt—”
“Say it,” I growl against her skin. “Say you still want me.”
“I never stopped,” she admits, voice barely more than a whisper.
That’s all it takes.
I lift her onto the counter, tug her dress up around her waist, and slam into her in a brutal, punishing thrust.
It’s frantic and furious and somehow beautiful all at once.
Her fingers claw into my hair, my back, my arms trying to hold on and push me away at the same time.
The sounds we make echo off the marble and glass like a confession neither of us can keep silent.
She sobs my name, and the world around us fractures, splintering into pieces that don’t matter. But I can’t stop. I won’t stop.
I can’t stop loving her, even if it burns us both to ashes.
And that—God, that’s the problem.