“Is this the bad thing?” I whisper. He shakes his head and inhales a harsh breath. “You said you hated me.” I shake my head in confusion. “What? No, Christian—” I take his face in my hands. “I don’t hate you.” He cradles my cheeks with the same tenderness I’m holding his. With his lips ghosting over mine, he whispers, “The day we met…I was going to kill myself.” My throat tightens and tears prick in my eyes. “What?” He holds me close to him, his trembling breaths telling me he’s terrified. Wet droplets of water drip from his hair and mix with his tears. “I had the gun to my head. I had my
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