CORBYN’S POV
When my tears subsided to whimpers and the aftermath, the heaving of my chest. I came to my senses and I had my head cradled against Kyle’s rock-solid chest. His white Armani t-shirt was soaked and clinging to him, like he was coming from a wet t-shirt party. I realized that I did that-that was my handy work. I had ruined a perfectly good designer top.
“I’m s-sorry,” I spoke in hoarse, sob-punctuated words.
“Do you want to talk about it buddie?” Kyle disregarded my apology. “It seems like you’re hurting badly?” he tilted his head and peered at me and handed me a tissue.
“I-” I dabbed at my eyes and nose. “I think I’ve burdened you enough as it is. You probably have more important things to do. I’ve imposed myself on you enough.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?
