She deserves the truth—all of it. Even if it guts me to give it to her.
Trey steps aside and opens the door. “Go,” he says simply. “And don’t fuck it up.” I don’t look back. I cross the threshold, every step heavier than the last, until I’m standing in the hallway—just outside the bathroom. She’s still on the floor, back against the tub, knees drawn to her chest. Her eyes lift when she hears me—red-rimmed, wary. But she doesn’t tell me to leave. So, I sit. Right there on the floor across from her. My voice is low when I speak.
“There’s something I need to show you,” I say. “And it’s gonna hurt.” Her lips part, but she doesn’t interrupt. I takeout my phone and pull up the photos—the ones that were sent anonymously to tear us apart. But instead of letting her stumble on them later, I turn the screen toward her and hold it out.
“This is the past I should’ve been man enough to own before now.” Her hand trembles as she takes it.
And as her eyes scan the images, her breath catches—once, twice—and her shoulders curl inward like she’s bracing for a blow.
I slide closer. Not touching her—not yet.
“I didn’t cheat on you,” I say quietly. “But that doesn’t excuse keeping something from you that could hurt you, baby. For that… I’m sorry. So fucking sorry. I was scared it would ruin what we have. That you’d see that guy, instead of the one sitting in front of you now.”
She’s quiet, eyes locked on the screen.
And then, barely above a whisper—
“How many?”
I hesitate.
“Two. Same night. Same mistake. Different kind of regret.”
Her jaw trembles. Her fingers wrap around my phone like it’s burning her.
I watch the pain settle over her like armor she never wanted but now needs. I don’t touch her. I let her have the space to hate me if she needs to.
“I don’t know how many tapes exist,” I add, voice barely mine. “There could be more.” Her shoulders stiffen.
“I was angry. Lost. Pushing everyone away like it was the only thing I knew how to do. I made mistakes, baby. So many fucking mistakes.” I drag in a breath. “But none of them were you. None of them were us. What we have...” I gesture between us “—it’s the only thing I’ve ever been sure of.”
Her eyes lift to mine searching. I Don’t flinch. I don’t look away.
“I didn’t know what love was until you gave it to me,” I say. “And now that I have it, I’m not letting it go without a fight.” Her lip trembles.
She blinks, and a tear spills down her cheek.
“And now that we’re public people will dig. They'll twist shit, send things, try to blow this wide open. But none of it matters unless we let it. We’re stronger than their noise.”
I inch closer—slow, careful.
“We’ve survived worse than gossip. What we have—it’s rare, baby. The kind of rare people envy.” I reach for her hand. This time, she lets me take it.
“What did they mean to you?” she asks, voice so faint I almost miss it. “Those women.”
I tighten my grip on her hand.
“Nothing,” I answer honestly. “Not even a second thought. They weren’t names. Weren’t faces. Just pain—dressed in perfume and lipstick. A way to feel something when I couldn’t feel anything at all.”
Her eyes search mine, still full of hurt.
But something flickers there, too.
Hope.
“This isn’t easy for me either,” she whispers. “I feel like I’m breaking.”
“Then let me help you put the pieces back together,” I breathe.
