Page 75 of When Sky Breaks
“Happy birthday, August,” I whisper.
Smoke curls around our faces as the wax scent of candles mixes with the chocolate of the cake and icing.
August’s gaze sinks to my lips and back to my face before he clears his throat and holds out a fork. My breathing increases as I take it and dig into the soft dessert.
Together, we take a bite, and he groans, leaning against the counter. “That’s so good.”
Using the food in my mouth as an excuse not to speak, I nod at his statement. It’s just a piece of cake, but I preen anyway with his praise, his groan putting images in my head that shouldn’t be there.
“What’s left is for you,” I say, distracting myself from the chocolate on his bottom lip and go find some throwaway container to pack up the rest.
To remove myself from his penetrating eyes, I clean the warm pan and set it to dry on a towel.
“Thank you again,” he says.
“You don’t deserve to celebrate your birthday alone. I was happy to do this for you.”
Nothing but the soft sounds of water and music drift between us. My heart hurts knowing his own mother forgot the day he was born. How he’s managed to remain as tender a man is beyond me.
I turn from the sink and rest against the counter. Our gazes tangle, each searching for a meaning, a sign we shouldn’t ignore.
“Why are you so selfless? I’m not sure I deserve anything from you.” The crack in his voice slices deep.
August was the first person to show me I truly mattered and had value. Who has shown that to him? As much as my conscience was shredded by the truth, he paid an even bigger price. His soul.
“Everyone deserves a second chance. I’ve always believed that. Maybe not at first, but I do now.”
August bows his head before tilting it back up, his eyes glossy with unshed tears, his bottom lip being gnawed to death by his teeth.
My chest tightens, and I want to go to him, to comfort him, but I stay rooted to the spot.
The air shifts as he strides over, tunneling his hands through my hair, forcing me to see him in all his stunning glory. The warmth of him presses me into the edge of the counter and I grip his waist.
“Leave him, Shortcake. Please,” August begs, his voice rough and low. His throat bobs and his body shakes. “He isn’t the one for you.” Those eyes sear me—so intense, so full of conviction…and promise.
My breaths slip out in short bursts, my heart stuttering in my ribcage. “Then who is?”
He rests his forehead on mine, and the warm ghost of his words skates across my lips. “Me. I want to be the one for you. I want to be better for you—because of you. I still love you. So fucking much it hurts. I always have and I always will. And I think you still love me, too.” He brushes a soft kiss over my temple.
This bold admission steals into my mind and conjures all the lives I’d hoped we would’ve lived. Every morning, every night, all the hours in between.
Reality strikes and I suck in a sharp breath.
“This is a lot to think about. I—I think I need to go. Go and think. I just—this is a lot.” My voice shakes as I watch the pulse in his neck race.
“I don’t mean to overwhelm you, but I told you I can’t hide my feelings anymore. Certainly not where they concern you.”
Biting my lip, I separate us before I do something I can’t take back. “I’ll, uh, I’ll text you later? Don’t forget your cake,” I stammer, grabbing my purse and squeezing past him and his tall frame to exit the kitchen, each step away not giving me the peace I was hoping to find.
The brisk air smacks me in the face as I burst through the church doors and jog across the parking lot. Before I crumble under the pressure of the evening, I slide into my car and steady my shaking hands by gripping the steering wheel.
He still loves me.
Do I still love him?
After reeling from August’s confession and rising from my emotional turmoil, I take a turn out of the church lot and note that until he mentioned Johnny, I didn’t think of him.
Not once.