Trent
The knocking wakes me abruptly.
I sit up, heart thudding as I try to get my bearings. It takes a second for the sound to register as someone at my front door. I grab my phone off the nightstand and squint at the screen. The time barely sinks in—it feels like I only just went to bed.
Another knock.
I swing my legs out of bed and pull on my sweats, tugging them up as I head for the door. The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs, my bare feet cold against the floor.
There’s a vague shape behind the glass when I reach the bottom of the stairs.
I open the door—and stop.
“Bree?” My voice comes out rough, still thick with sleep. I blink, trying to clear my head as I take her in.
Her eyes widen. “Did I wake you?” She sways slightly, one hand going to the doorframe.
“It’s fine,” I say, even as my pulse kicks up. Her gaze dips briefly to my chest before snapping back to my face, and the heat that crawls up my neck catches me off guard.
“I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.” She starts to back away, guilt flickering across her expression.
“Come in,” I tell her—less an invitation than a decision already made.
She hesitates. “Are you sure?”
I just hold the door open. After a moment, she steps past me, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
I close the door and lead her into the living room. I drop onto the couch, watching as she lingers for a second before finally sitting across from me.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask, rubbing the back of my neck, still trying to piece together why she’s here.
“Uh—no. I’m good.” She twists her fingers together in her lap.
“What’s going on, Bree?” I lean forward, elbows on my knees, studying her face.
She blinks, eyes flicking up to mine. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in my living room at midnight,” I say gently. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
Concern creeps into my voice as I take her in. No injuries that I can see—just the faint sway, the gloss in her eyes that tells me she’s been drinking.
Disappointment settles low in my chest at the thought that this is the only reason she’s here.
Her mouth curves into a small, uncertain smile. “I wanted to see you.”
“Yeah?” I tilt my head. “Why’s that?”
“I’d been thinking about you.”
“You’re drunk?” I ask, keeping my tone flat.
“I’ve had a few,” she admits.
“Glasses or bottles?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
She exhales a quiet huff. “What does it matter? I was thinking about you, and after Brandon dropped me off home, I got a rideshare here.”
“Why?” I ask.
Her gaze lifts to mine, hesitant. “You don’t want me to be here?”
“I didn’t say that. You know you can always come here.” I pause, choosing my words. “I’m just trying to understand.”
For a moment, she stays where she is. Then Aubrey stands so abruptly I think she’s about to leave. Instead, she crosses the small space between us and sits down beside me. The couch dipping under her weight, the shift subtle but undeniable.
She’s close—close enough that I catch the faint vanilla of her skin. The scent hits like muscle memory, sharp and unwelcome in the best way.
“Why are you always in my head?” she whispers, eyes searching mine now, unguarded. “Why can’t I let go of you?”
The question settles between us, heavy and impossible to ignore.
I draw in a slow breath, my pulse hammering in my throat. “I could say the same thing about you,”
The space between us feels impossibly small now—like one wrong word could shatter the distance entirely.
Her jaw tightens. “You don’t get to pretend this is hard for you. You’re the one who ended things—tossed me aside like I meant nothing to you.”
Her words land like a punch. I feel them in my chest, sharp and familiar.
“That’s not true,” I manage, but it comes out rough, catching in my throat.
She lets out a bitter little laugh that sounds nothing like her. “This was a mistake,” she says, mimicking my voice. The sound of it slices through me—the echo of that morning, of every word I wish I could take back.
I swallow hard. “You weren’t a mistake,” I murmur. My voice is barely there, but I force myself to meet her eyes. She deserves that much, even if it kills me.
“How am I meant to know when you’re telling me the truth?
” she snaps. Her voice trembling under the anger, fragile in a way that breaks something open inside me.
“You told me I was a mistake like it was nothing—like it was so easy for you to say. There was no emotion, no sign of the Trent that I loved. How can you break me like that and then push your way back into my life while I was trying to get over you?”
She’s on her feet before I can respond, pacing the small space in front of me. Her fingers digging into her hair, frustration twisting across her face. Every bit of pain flashing in her eyes and I put it there. And there’s nothing I can do now except watch her unravel because of me.
“Bree…” My voice comes out soft, careful. I start to rise, but she cuts me off before I can stand.
“No.” The word rips out of her, raw and shaking. “I was moving on. I was doing better. Justin was a nice guy—he was the right guy—and then you had the accident and…” Her breath catches. The sentence fractures midair. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought…”
“Justin wasn’t the right guy,” I say, pushing myself up from the sofa and moving toward her slowly. “He was never going to be the right guy. I fucked up, and I’m so fucking sorry for that. But me and you—we’re inevitable.”
“If we were,” she sobs, shaking her head, “you wouldn’t have let me go.”
That’s all it takes. I reach for her, pulling her against me. She comes without resistance, burying her face in my chest. Her tears burning against my skin.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking into the space between us.
“Was any of it real?” Her voice cracks, small but sharp, like she’s bracing for an answer that will ruin her.
“It was all real.” I reach up, cupping her face in my palms. My thumbs brush against her cheeks, catching the tears I put there. “I want to make this right. I want us to have a real conversation about what happened, but we can’t do that tonight.”
“Why not?” she whispers.
“Because you’re drunk,” I say softly. “This isn’t a conversation we can have when you’re like this.”
Aubrey exhales, her breath shaky. Then her hands slide up my chest, warm against my skin.
The touch steals my breath. The heat of her palms, the faint tremble in her fingers—it all hits too fast, too hard.
My eyes fall shut before I can stop them, and I breathe her in, that familiar vanilla wrapping around me like a memory I can’t shake.
“If we can’t talk now,” she murmurs, her lips grazing the skin over my heart, “maybe we should find something else to do.”
Her mouth trails lower, a whisper of warmth that ignites every nerve in my body. Her hands drift down, tracing the line of my stomach until they reach the waistband of my sweats.
Reality snaps back like a rubber band. My eyes fly open. Before her hands can slip inside, I catch her wrists, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around them. I take a step back, putting a few feet of air between us.
Aubrey’s eyes widen, confusion flashing to hurt, then hardening into something else. She jerks her wrists free.
“You don’t want me?” she demands, her brow arching, voice edged with anger.
“You’re drunk,” I repeat, my tone steady, though my pulse is anything but.
“So?” she fires back.
“I’m not doing this when you’re like this.”
For a beat, silence swells between us, heavy and raw. Then her jaw tightens. “You know what? Fuck this—and fuck you,” she spits, spinning toward the door.
“Bree, stop.”
Panic surges through me, cutting straight through the fog of exhaustion. Before I can think, I move—faster than I should—planting myself between Aubrey and the door.
“Don’t go,” I say, the words raw, almost a plea.
“Move, Trent.” Her voice trembles, but there’s steel beneath it.
“Please,” I breathe, shaking my head. “Please don’t go.”
“You don’t want me.”
“I do,” I fire back, too quickly, too desperate.
“I do fucking want you. I want all of you—every single part of you. But I want you to want me the same way. You’re drunk right now and I don’t want you to regret anything.
I want to fix what I broke. I want to beg for your forgiveness and show you that I deserve another chance. I want you to trust me again.”
She stands frozen, eyes wide, her breath coming fast. The silence between us feels alive—pain, history, everything we never said hanging in the space between us.
I reach for her, my hand finding her arm, then sliding up until I can pull her close enough that our foreheads touch. Her breath mingles with mine, shaky and uneven.
“I have never stopped wanting you,” I whisper. “Just stay. Stay tonight, and we’ll talk properly in the morning. Please.”
Aubrey’s breath hitches, her forehead still pressed against mine. Neither of us moves. I can feel her shaking—tiny tremors that run through her body and into mine. Her skin is warm against my bare chest, her breath shallow and uneven.
Then she exhales, long and shaky, and leans back just enough to meet my eyes.
“Every instinct is telling me to leave,” she whispers, voice trembling. “And yet I can’t seem to make myself do it.”
“Then don’t,” I say softly, the words catching somewhere between hope and fear.
Her gaze flickers, searching mine. “What if we can’t fix it, Trent? What if this is just… how it’s always going to be?”
I swallow hard, my thumb brushing across her cheek. “I’ll never stop trying to make up for what I broke, baby,” I murmur. “Even after tomorrow—if you walk away from me again—I’ll never move on from you. I’ll always be fighting to be a better man, hoping that one day you’ll come back to me.”
Her eyes glisten, and for a moment she doesn’t breathe.
“We deserve the chance to talk this out properly,” I add quietly. “To put everything on the table. And then—after that—you can decide what happens next.”
“Okay,” she whispers, the word barely holding together before she sinks back against me.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight, desperate to anchor her here—to anchor us here—for just a little longer. My chest rises and falls against her cheek, and I close my eyes, clinging to the fragile chance of making this right.
It took me too long to realize how I felt about Aubrey. Too long to see how fucking lucky I was to have a woman like her look at me the way she did.
I won’t make that mistake again.
Aubrey Jenkins will always be mine… even if I’m never hers again.
Tomorrow will be hard—there’s no doubt about that—but I meant every word I said. I’ll fight every damn day to repair the damage I caused, and if I’m ever lucky enough to earn her forgiveness, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving she made the right choice.