What If's
Sarah
Cullen doesn’t speak right away. I think he’s letting my words settle between us, giving them time to breathe. His head is tilted down, but I can see the way his jaw tightens, loosens, like he’s trying to control himself, maybe.
Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze to mine. “Thank you,” he says.
That’s all. Just that. I blink, unsure.
“For what?”
“For telling me the truth. For not lying to make me feel better. For still talking to me anyway, after everything.”
I sigh. “I don’t know what the truth is half the time anymore.”
He smiles faintly, like he understands. “Neither do I. But I know one thing... if I could go back and do things differently, I would. Every damn day, I replay it all in my head and think...what if I had just talked to you the night we got married instead of shutting down? What if I’d held your hand instead of walking away? What if I had let myself love you the way I should have?”
I feel my throat tighten. “You can’t live on what-ifs, Cullen.”
“I know. But I am. Because they’re the only thing I have right now.”
I look away, staring at the floor. I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know what to do with a man who finally wants to give me what I needed… but only now, after I’ve already broken apart and barely started to put the pieces back together.
He leans forward slowly, wincing a little as he does. “I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight, Sarah. And I’m not asking you to take me back. I just…” His voice softens to a whisper. “I just want a chance...a chance to love you...a chance to show you..."
I close my eyes. “It's not that simple Cullen.”
Silence falls again. But this time, it feels different. Then, gently, he asks,
“Can I hold you? Just for a minute?”
I hesitate. My heart is a battlefield, a war between every reason not to and every desperate part of me that still aches for that feeling of being seen, being held.
"Please, just for a minute. I just want to make sure I am alive."
I nod. Just once. He shifts slowly, painfully, to make space, and I lie beside him, careful not to touch his injuries. He reaches out tentatively, wrapping one arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.
It’s quiet. Just his heartbeat and the hum of the night outside. And I let myself be there in the moment, let myself not remember all the things he did to me, not the fear, not the heartbreak, the loneliness, the way he told me to my face that he would never.
I shake my head. I’m just going to be here in this moment with him.
I guess I must have fallen asleep or we both must have, because when I hear the knock on the door, I feel something warm beneath me, and another heavy, warm thing draped over my waist.
My eyes fly open in shock....Cullen.
His eyes are open too, wide awake. The light from outside is slipping through the curtains, soft and golden. It’s not just morning. It’s very late into the morning.
How could I have slept like that? How could I have slept this soundly? What would have made me, someone who hasn’t slept properly in weeks, drift off like that?
Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s the way he held me, protective, steady, his chest rising and falling beneath me like a soft lullaby. Maybe it’s the warmth. Or maybe it’s the way he made me feel last night, like I mattered. Like I was loved. Like I was safe.
Our eyes lock and for a second, it’s hard to breathe.
I know I’ve slept with Cullen in the same bed for months before. But back then, everyone stayed on their own side of the bed. Cold. Silent. Strangers beneath the same roof.
There was no communication. No emotion. No us. But this? This is different.
Here I am in his arms. His bare chest against my cheek. His arm is wrapped around my waist, not over the fabric, but directly on my skin, because at some point in the night, my pyjama top must have ridden up.
I should move. I should get up. I should say something, anything to break this tension before it becomes worse. But I don’t. Because neither does he.
We just look at each other. Silent. Still. His thumb moves slightly, just a tiny shift over my hipbone, like a question he’s too afraid to ask. And maybe I’m scared of the answer.
The knock comes again, louder this time. And that’s when it hits me....My father.
I bolt upright in bed. “Oh my God.”
Cullen sits up too, grimacing as the sudden movement aggravates his injuries.
“Do you think he knows?” I whisper.
Cullen’s already reaching for his shirt.
“I don’t know. But if....”
Another knock.
“SARAH?”
My blood runs cold. It's my father's voice.
Cullen’s eyes go wide. We both freeze. I look at him. He looks at me. I am full-blown panicking. My heart is pounding so loudly I’m convinced it could be heard through the walls. My father is behind that door.
And Cullen... God, Cullen is in here. He shouldn't be. He was not supposed to be here. I can’t think straight.
He’s shirtless. I’m in my pyjamas. We’re tangled. And my father, the Don is outside. I know if I don’t open the door soon, he’s going to think something’s wrong. He’ll beat it down if he has to. And I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to explain this. I can’t explain this.
“Sarah, are you okay?” he says through the door, his voice a bit edged with concern.
That shift in my father's voice, just slightly makes it clear that yes, he’s seconds away from opening it himself.
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