It should have been more than obvious that this wasn’t what he had planned when he decided to take her out that night, but it was still a relief to hear her assure him. Telling her he didn’t mean to do something didn’t make it better though, of that much he was certain. He was also certain that no matter what she decided to make for breakfast, it wouldn’t make him forget that he had completely lost control. How was he supposed to explain to her the way his blood pressure spiked, and how it felt like he had momentarily been removed from his own body as he threw the first punch? How was he supposed to explain the way he practically thrived off all the pain he was causing the other man, or that his misery felt like a drug that was swimming through his veins?
It had taken at least 3 men to break up the fight, 2 of them needing to hold back Jesse while they waited for security to show up. He was so much stronger than he looked.
He moved to press a kiss to the newly exposed area of her neck, pressing one more a little closer to her shoulder before he mumbled against the soft cotton of her shirt behind her shoulder, still holding her against him, finding such comfort in the way her body molded against his.
“I’m sorry.”
And he was – he was sorry for ruining her night, and he was sorry for the things she would be hearing over the next couple of days, and the whispers that she would have to pretend not to hear. He was used to it, and he deserved it, but she didn’t – not when she hadn’t done anything except care for a boy who didn’t deserve her.