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My hands still. “For what?”

She clears her throat, tilting her head to look at me, and I slide the desk holding my supplies aside. “For the things I said that night.”

An ugly pain cuts through me as I recall the fear in her gaze when she caught me in the middle of all that blood and violence, when I showed her exactly what kind of man I am. I gently set down the bottle in my hand before I answer her. “Anna, I don’t blame you for any of that.”

“I do.” Her voice is hushed. “Some of it anyway.”

I lean back in the chair, take a steadying breath, and keep my focus locked on her. She tucks her chin down, and I roll closer toward the head of the table, so she doesn’t have to strain her neck to see me, and so we can look at each other directly.

I hold her eye contact before speaking. “I am truly sorry.”

She studies me. “Are you really?”

Am I sorry she saw it? Or sorry I did it?

“I’m sorry that was how you found out.”

I don’t stop there; if we’re doing this, I’m braving it all—and I’m going to confess before she has to ask me for the truth. She deserves it up front.

“I saw the texts from Steve on your phone. I could see it was crushing you, so I looked,” I admit, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I watched the video.”

She makes a small pained noise and her eyes brim with tears.

“I found Steve first. Even if I hadn’t seen the video, after you told me what he did to you, I would have tracked him down anyway. He identified the other two men in the video. I need you to understand that I lost my mom because of men like that—they don’t stop just because you ask nicely.”

Her subtle nod tells me she knows this too. “You were stalking me before that,” she says, plainly.

“Yes.” I inhale a lungful of air. “At first it was nothing more than looking you up online, pure curiosity. It wasn’t until I saw the scars on your back after that cover-up consultation that I couldn’t get you out of my head. You weren’t something I could turn away from; I kept thinking about who put those marks there. However, after our first session and I felt you flinch and witnessed the way you cried in silence . . . that’s when I saw how deep your pain was. The less you spoke, the more interest I gained. At your first appointment I put a tracker on your car. After two weeks I was obsessed. You were so regimented, I mean, down to the fucking minute you walked out the door. It was . . . bizarre. I wanted to hang out with you, but you weren’t having it. I was determined to understand you.”

I tear off my gloves and sigh, running my hand over my hair as I spill the rest of the truth.

“I broke into your apartment first, and seeing where you lived only added to the fascination. You had some of the most gruesome violent scars I’d ever seen, yet lived this soft pink life.” I gesture to her apartment, glancing behind me into the bedroom. My gaze catches on the mirror . . . she hasn’t taken down my note. I turn back to her.

“Anyway, I lost track of time and you came back earlier than I anticipated, so I hid under the bed. I was trying to figure out how the hell to sneak out when I noticed a weird panel on the wall. While you were meal prepping in the kitchen, I popped it open and escaped through there. I had no idea that the hidden hallway was back there, but I followed it down to the basement. The stairway was actually boarded up and I spent the night back there, until you left for your morning jog.” I resist laughing at the predicament I found myself in that night. “Eventually that became a way for me to . . . I dunno, observe you, I guess.

“I told myself I was making sure you weren’t in any immediate danger. Then I kept watching because I wanted to know everything. Somewhere in the middle of that, after we got to know each other in person . . . I fell for you.”

Her breath catches.

“What I did was . . .” I shake my head. “Not normal—unfair—maybe even unforgivable . . . but no matter how ugly, you deserve the truth.”

Muted tears slip sideways down her face onto the leather-upholstered table. I push through.

“I would do anything to keep you safe,” I tell her. “That’s the best and worst thing about me. I don’t know how to love halfway—I can’t watch a threat creep in and do nothing while it tears you apart . . . And if that makes me the wrong man for you, then—” I clear my throat, failing to prevent it from breaking. “Then I’ll bear it. But this is who I am, Anna.”

For a second, neither of us says anything and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and feeling like I’ve just ripped myself open. I stare at the floor, hating that I may have just sealed my own grave.

Her voice is steady when she speaks. “I love that version of you too.”

I don’t move at first . . . I physically can’t. Her words shake my existence, cracking open my deepest wound and healing it. I glance up at her and find her sitting upright on the table, staring down at me like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

The chair spins away when I stand quickly. I capture her face with my hands, cupping her chin, so I can cradle the world in my palms. There’s nothing careful or restrained when our lips meet. I pour every heavy emotion into my kiss . . . desire, grief, longing, love.

She gasps into my mouth, grabbing fistfuls of my shirt, and that’s it, that’s all it takes for the last of my self-control to go up in smoke.

She chose me.

She knows every dark, ugly thing . . . and she chose me anyway.