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“Feel what?” I open the door for her, keeping my eyes away from hers.
“This.” She swipes a tear away. “Us.”
When I don’t say anything, she shakes her head. “You kissed me. You came here.”
“I know.” This is all my fault.
If I would have just been stronger.
“Are you really going to pretend there isn’t something between us?” Tears stream down her cheeks.
“There can’t be an us, baby.” I motion to the seat. “We both know that. Now get in.”
She shakes her head again, tears steaming. “No.”
“Tilly, you ready!” A voice shouts.
She turns, facing Clayton. She glances back at me, and the look she sends me nearly buckles my knees.
“Yeah. I’m ready,” she calls.
She straightens her shoulders. Her shaky hands lift, and she signs something I’ll never forget. I knew I’d never be good enough for you.
Then she storms away.
Taking my heart right along with her.
Chapter 30
Tilly
I sit in the floor, choking back tears. I was cursing myself. So disappointed in the fact I didn’t see it. That I didn’t see beneath the put together exterior of a man who didn’t value me. I place the gun on the floor, taking in the disaster dinner that’s scattered across the hardwood. With a deep breath I will myself to move. I crawl, my hands shaking as I pick up a fork. I place it on a broken plate, before I move to the next one. I had just reached for the other broken piece when a knock sounds at my door. I pause, praying who ever it is would go away. I didn’t want to be seen like this.
I quickly stack the broke pieces when the knock comes again, followed by Greyson’s voice.
No, No, No.
I can’t see him. I’ll break down. I’m fine. It was just a slap to the mouth. Nothing major.
I crawl over, dragging my pants through spilled marinara. My fingers grip the large pot, turning it right side up so I can scoop up the mess.
The door opens and I move quicker. Scooping up as many noodles as my hands will allow.
“Tilly…. what the…” Greyson begins, but I interrupt him.
“It’s fine. Just a spill. No big deal.” I turn my back to him, using the side of my hand to shovel the other shards of broken plates.
“Rosie, can you look at me?” His voice softens and he feels closer.
But I never stop. I stack the plates in the pot, then pick up the salad bowl.
He was even closer now. I could feel him right behind me. He places his hand gently on my back and I flinch, a sob trying to force its way out of my throat. I swipe at my chin. It feels wet.
“Baby.” He crouches down next to me. “Look at me.”
My hands still and I close my eyes. The heavy tears fall. They roll from my cheeks, down to the mixture of sauce and noodles beneath me. I finally gather the courage to look up. To let him see just how weak I feel. How embarrassed I am that I let this happen.
When I meet his eyes, his hand goes to his mouth. He roughly runs it across his chin. His eyes glance away, his jaw tensing before he looks back down at me.
