“He looked back. She was standing still where he had left her, looking at the water. Not at him. He turned and ran. Ran back to her as fast as he could. “I’m sorry,” he said before he even reached her. “I’m sorry.” He stopped in front of her, trying to take her hands. She fisted them and looked up at him, her jaw very hard and a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Putain, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Please don’t, Jaime.” He sounded like his father, in the early days, when his father still felt horrified a...t himself after he hit his little boy or his wife. “I’m sorry, Jaime.” He squeezed her hands frantically, trying to make them relax to his hold. God, he hated how he sounded so much like his father. Merde, worse, he sounded like himself, when he was young enough to try to apologize his way out of a beating, before he set himself against his father in pure hatred. He seemed to be making it worse. That full mouth that had set so hard against him trembled now, and the sheen grew until it shivered on the edge of her lashes, ready to fall.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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