I was scared.
I love you, and I was terrified you’d leave me.
Even desolate and enraged, she couldn’t dismiss the naked honesty in the admission. Couldn’t pretend to herself that he was playing her, misleading her, wheedling for her forgiveness through strategic, manipulative vulnerability.
At long last, he was letting her see him without any barriers, any artifice, any deception between them.
And it was too late. Too goddamn late.
Outside the car, children shrieked in a game of keep-away from across the park’s expansive grassy field. The sound was distant, almostinaudible over the ringing in her ears, the subtle creak of her seat as she sagged into it all at once.
Her voice wasn’t angry or disdainful anymore, but still thick. Still despairing. “For months, you’ve known much more about me than I realized, and you kept that information from me. It’s a horrible violation of trust. You realize that, right?”
It was disorienting. Sickening.
Every conversation they’d had, every moment of their relationship, she’d now have to revisit and question. When had he lied? When had he simply not told her the truth? When had he used his knowledge as BAWN to further his own purposes as Marcus?
He’d definitely pumped her for information about Marcus as BAWN, she knew that for certain. And then—and then he’d cut off contact on the Lavineas server. Just like that.
“When BAWN s-stopped”—she inhaled through her nose, exhaled a hitching breath through her mouth—“whenyoustopped writing me on the server, I told myself I’d done something wrong, or you’d finally seen me and realized I wasn’t anyone you c-could want. You were m-my—”
Her sob shook her shoulders, and he bowed his head.
She sniffed back more tears. “Y-you were my best friend, and you just... left. With no good explanation, only some dumb excuse that was obviously untrue. You lied to me as Marcus, but you lied to me as BAWN too. Youa-abandonedme.”
Tipping her head back, she stared at the gray fabric of her car’s ceiling and waited until she could speak intelligibly again. “You hurt me, lied, and violated my trust because you were scared.”
“I’m so sorry.” He sounded agonized. Helpless in the face of her despair.
“Your public persona.” Fretfully, she rubbed her forehead. “Yousaid you’ve wanted to drop it for years, but you haven’t. For the same reason, I assume. Because it’s too hard, and you could lose everything, and you’re scared. Too scared to pick your next role, because you’d have to decide which version of you would show up on set.”
The statement didn’t require an answer, and he didn’t give her one.
Instead, after a deep breath, he squared his shoulders. “Can you forgive me?”
The question was gruff, his eyes glassy as he met hers.
She opened her mouth, then pinched it shut. Once. Twice.
When she continued staring at the ceiling, silent, he spoke again. “You don’t owe it to me. I know that. My love doesn’t buy me absolution, and I didn’t say it to sway you. I said it because you should know. No matter what happens between us now, you should know that you’re loved. Even if you don’t forgive me.”
Her cheeks were already tight with salt, and she was crying again. Still.
He loved her. She believed that. And in some ways—in many ways—he really was such a good man. So good, she’d almost believed they could make it work, against all odds.
But she knew the answer to his question, because she knew herself.
She didn’t want to say it, but she would. She had to.
“No,” she finally said. “I can’t forgive you.”
He made a raw, wounded sound, and that only made the tears come faster.
Rolling her head to the side, she finally looked at him again. He was a blur through her flooded eyes, his expression indistinct, and maybe that was for the best.
Sheknuckled away the wetness from her chin. “I want to go home.”
His love for her didn’t buy him forgiveness, and hers didn’t mean she’d offer it. Which meant this would be their last time alone together. Ever.
