I didn’t answer him right away.

Marcus stood in front of me in the dark guest room, hand still on my jaw, waiting. Downstairs a cabinet closed. Ethan was still moving around, still unaware of how close everything was to breaking.

“I need a minute,” I whispered.

“You’ve had three years of minutes.” His thumb stroked once across my lower lip. “Time’s up.”

I closed my eyes. The guilt was still there, sharp and real. Ethan’s soft smile. The way he kissed my forehead. The life I was supposed to want. But under the guilt lived something heavier. The way my body opened for Marcus. The way he looked at...