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The long drive back into the city was silent, both Beck and I lost in our heavy thoughts.
    I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to say something comforting to him.
    I wanted to pour out my guilt and beg his forgiveness again for even getting him into this mess.
    But he had put up a wall, and I could sense it as clearly as if he had told me point-blank that he needed some space. His body was stiff with tension, his jaw locked tight when I’d turn to look at him in the glow of the dashboard lights. He never said a word to me on the way back, seemingly fine to suffer in silence rather than with my support.
    This confused me and hurt me, and yet…I really didn’t know how to even strike up the right type of conversation that would assure me that he still loved me and give him the emotional support he needed.
    At this point, I’m so confused about where we stand that I feel like I’m on the verge of a complete breakdown.
    Beck moves quietly down the hall toward our bedroom and I follow behind, flipping off lights as I go. He immediately goes into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind him. I can hear him in there using the toilet and then flushing. The water turns on, and I can envision him washing his hands. A few more moments of silence, and then he opens the bathroom door, pulling his shirt over his head before he steps out. When the material clears his face, he finally looks at me standing by the bed and I have to hope he sees the look of need on my face.
    I need him to say something.
    Just one tiny word or even a smile that lets me know that while he’s burdened greatly by everything that’s happened, it hasn’t changed his feelings for me.
    Instead, his eyes sort of pass over me and he turns to the closet to deposit his shirt in the clothes hamper.
    “Beck,” I call out desperately, my voice heavy with need and fear.
    He immediately whips around to face me, his gaze filled with worry. “What’s wrong?”
    My eyes roam all over that face, and I try to take in every single feature that gives me a hint as to what he might be feeling in this moment. From the mussed-up hair indicating a long day without a comb to it, to the fatigue lines around his eyes, to the deep furrow in his brow as he looks at me. His eyes don’t shine but have turned a dull matte and his shoulders hang low.
    He takes a tentative step toward me but doesn’t say anything.
    The silence is almost damning, and my gaze sort of drifts to the window where most of the Financial District buildings are darkened except for strategically placed architectural lighting.
    Perhaps we’re finished.
    “Sela…what’s wrong?” Beck asks softly, and I look back at him. He’s standing in the same spot, staring at me expectantly.
    “Do you still love me?” I blurt out, and those fucking weak-assed tears start to build up again. “After all this trouble I’ve caused?”
    For a split second, he doesn’t react, but just stares at me impassively. Then it’s like a curtain is lifted over his face and understanding makes his eyes soften with empathy as he gets everything about me in one clear moment.
    Two long steps and he’s in front of me.
    His hands go to the sides of my head, hold me in place, and he leans his face down until our noses are almost touching. “Of course I love you.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, the tears making a fool out of me as they spill out.
    “Don’t,” Beck orders me, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own. His command is almost harsh, but his voice gently cradles my battered self-esteem. “Don’t you apologize for a thing to me. You did nothing wrong.”
    I blink and more tears fall. “If only I’d—”
    “Don’t,” he orders me again. “I’m not going to listen to it. If you’ve got some insecurities about what there is between us right now, then you ask them and let me reassure you, but don’t go about doing it by way of pointing a guilty finger at yourself. You hear me?”
    I blink, clear the