Page 68 of Pucking Forbidden

I fling myself upright, throwing my legs over the edge of the couch. I drop my head into my hands, my fingers clutching at my hair so hard it hurts. I can’t breathe. I can’t look at her. I’m completely exposed, raw and shaking, and the sheer humiliation of it is a physical weight crushing down on me. Fuck.

“Sorry,” I mutter, running a shaking hand through my hair. “I…shit…sorry.”

“What happened?” she asks. “That nightmare…”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Hadley replies softly. She doesn't push, and she doesn't raise her voice. Instead, she slides her hands down to my wrists, her touch warm and light against my trembling skin. Her expression is pure compassion, her eyes swimming with an empathy that threatens to break whatever resolve I have left. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whatever it is…you don't have to carry it by yourself.”

“I said I’m fine,” I snap, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be.

The air between us grows thick with tension. She doesn’t back down.

“Talk to me,” she insists. “We’re friends. I care about you.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

Because if I do, I have to admit to all the ugly, broken parts of me that I try so hard to keep hidden.

A heavy, sickening wave of regret crashes over me, suffocating and sharp. I shouldn't have stayed. I never wanted her to see this. I should have walked out into the pouring rain the second she offered, should have known better than to let my guard down, and should have never fallen asleep. She shouldn't have risked being near me.

I look down at her, and a bitter, dark knot of self-loathing twists in my gut. She’s looking up at me with so much raw concern, her eyes wide. She shouldn’t look at me like that. Shouldn’t be wasting her worry, her tears, or her massive heart on someone as ruined as me.

The lingering haze of the nightmare drags every single one of my deepest insecurities to the surface, leaving them bleeding in the open. Sitting in her beautiful, pristine apartment, looking at her, the contrast is deafening. She’s too good. Too pure. Me? I’m the guy people eventually realize is too much work. The guy they leave behind. Mom left. My brother left. At the end of the day, no one ever chooses me, and why would they?

“I don’t think I can do this,” I mutter, pushing to my feet.

Her brows pull together. She frowns. “Do what?”

“This!” I gesture between us. “Being around you. Pretending we’re just…”

I stop. Goddamn it, what am I doing? What was I about to admit to?

“Just what?” she prods gently.

Fuck it, maybe I should just say it and nip it in the bud before things really get out of hand.

“Just friends,” I finish.

The words hang between us, out in the open. No taking them back now.

Her lips part. “Julian…”

I turn away. I don’t think I can handle her rejection right now.

“I should go,” I mutter as I make my way to the door.

“Wait!”

My steps don’t falter. I grab my jacket as I cross the apartment in long strides.

“Julian!” she cries.

Still, I don’t stop because I know if I do, I won’t leave.

The door closes behind me hard, and I continue down the hallway without looking back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: THE JERSEY