My gaze launches to the sonogram ornament dangling on the tree. The Christmas lights blur as my vision swarms with tears.
How long before the worst thing in my life happens again? How long before I lose everything? How long before I fuck it all up?
At my silence, he shakes his head and takes a step closer. “You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to talk.” His voice breaks. “That’s how we got into this fuckin’ mess in the first place.”
He’s right. Because of me.
“You need to move on.” My voice wobbles even as I tell myself to be strong. To push.
“I can’t,” he says, the simple sentence torn from his chest.
“Why not?” I almost stamp my foot. Damn stubborn man.
“Because of you,” he shouts.
The power of his words hits me like a freight train. I nearly stagger back.
“You. It’s you, Bellamy. You stand in my way of lovin’ anyone else. Of ever lovin’ anyone else.” The floorboards shake, and then I’m in his arms. “God, don’t you fucking see that? Don’t you fucking feel it?” He runs a broad, tan hand up my arm, and my body thrums in response. “Livin’ without you every day feels wrong.”
I want to echo his ache. I want to tell him the truth—I didn’t want to go; I left for you; I’m so damn sorry—but I’m frozen in fear. So I say nothing. Instead, I blink at the Christmas lights as a hot pressure fills my eyes.
He sucks in a sharp breath. Irises sliced with silver, he releases me, steps back. “Fine. I get it.”
“Hank.” I reach for him, but he moves away. Regret eats me alive.
He whistles sharply and Zelda comes bounding. Sidestepping me, he strides for the door, hitting me with the chilliest of coldshoulders. “I’m goin’ to the shop. I’ll be here to talk when you’re ready.”
I put the boxes away. Stoke the fire. Pour myself another cup of coffee and add a splash of Irish cream to numb the sad, hollow feeling inside me. Then I wander to the stove to clean up the breakfast we didn’t eat.
“Fuck,” I mutter when the scent registers. Hank made hazelnut pancakes. My favorite.
It’s stuck in my mind. The devastated look on his face when I wouldn’t talk. That’s how we got here. Because of me.
Heart in my throat, I box up the pancakes and open the fridge. As I take in the contents beneath the bright fluorescent light, it all clicks. The amount of food in the fridge, my favorite things, the candles. It wasn’t a mix-up, an accident, that Hank was here when I arrived.
He came for me. To get me to stay.
Hot tears fill my eyes.
I was a coward, a selfish jerk to let things get this far, to think these last few days wouldn’t have mattered to him. Because they mattered to me. I felt alive. Happy. Whole.
Because before them, I wasn’t whole. Not without Hank.
He was always there for me, matter how dark life got, and I wasn’t there for him.
And now I’ve repeated the past. I pushed Hank away. Again.
He, on the other hand, poured his heart out, desperate to know why I left. Telling me he loved me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath.
Oh. Oh no.
I’ve made a mess of things.
Especially myself. My heart.
I still love Hank. I never stopped. Not when I left. Not when I signed those papers. It was all an act to guard my heart. An effort to keep us from suffering more heartbreak.
