Page 65 of Broken Saint

I could have killed her.

I could have?—

“Colt,” she whispers, the softness of her voice cutting through the silence hanging between us.

I want to say something, but I have no idea what.

Instead, all I manage is a rough swallow.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

My shoulders tense, my skin burning as she moves closer.

It was, though. It was my inability to stick to my own goddamn rules.Never do repeats and you won’t get attached. It was what I fucking lived by…until Ella.

Fuck. She screwed with my head and my body from the first moment we met. She might have been Sawyer’s. But I knew she was meant for me.

If only she knew the fucking life sentence that came with it.

She should have run a mile the first time I selfishly made a move. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I was a selfish asshole.

“Ella,” I force out, my voice rough with emotion and self-loathing.

I want to demand she leaves. I should demand she leaves.

I never, ever let anyone see me starting to slip.

But the thought of her walking out of that door right now tears me to shreds. If it were to actually happen.

A violent shudder rips through me.

All these years, I’ve tried to keep memories of her locked up tight.

And now she’s here, standing right behind me, witnessing me at my lowest, and still, I battle with doing the right thing.

The selfish part of me screams to forget it, to turn around and take her. She’s right fucking there, offering herself up.

But the rational part of me, the part that knows we’ll both end up drowning if the other side takes over and begs for me to do the right thing.

She doesn’t deserve to be stuck with you, Colton. It’s a life sentence.

“Colton, please.”

I startle when the warmth of her palm brushes against my lower back.

I swallow again, attempting to force down the lump clogging my throat.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I knew what I was doing. I was ending things with you just asmuch as you were me. It was my fault I got behind the wheel. I should have waited. I should have?—”

“No,” I state, pushing from the sink and spinning to face her.

My breath catches at the sight of her wrapped in my sheet. The sheet we spent all last night rolling around on, and then sleeping under when our bodies finally couldn’t take any more.

“Don’t you dare take the blame for this. None of this is on you. Everything. All of it. It’s me. I never should have?—”

My words are cut off when she wraps her arms around my neck, presses her body against me and slams her lips down on mine.