Still, no words came. Because he understood both of them too well.
Of course. Of course a woman as brave as Lucy would bare her emotions, her desires, without equivocation or any attempt to shield herself. Of course she wouldn’t let the two of them drift into whatever future awaited them, either together or apart, without an honest conversation.
As he’d feared, though, she was guiding this discussion out onto a limb too slender and shaky for his feeble courage. She’d expect him to follow her there. And this time, if he clung to the trunk and let her sway in the wind alone, she’d never beckon to him again.
His mouth felt gritty and dry, as if someone had poured sand down his throat. He was growing dizzy from lack of oxygen. And she was looking at him with such faith and affection, he couldn’t seem to think. Couldn’t figure out how to handle this situation without risking either himself or the ties that bound them.
He’d need to rely on the instincts honed over years of hiding, then.
Deflect. Avoid direct questions. Shield his vulnerabilities at all costs.
Of those many vulnerabilities, his love for her was the biggest and most terrifying. Always had been. Always would be.
“Staying in Marysburg…” He tried to swallow. “Is that what you want to do?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate. “But before I make that call, I need to know whatyouwant.”
There it was. The invitation onto the limb where she waited with such patience, even as it threatened to crack beneath her.
He could join her. He wanted to, with all the love andhope a foolish boy’s heart could hold. But years of torture at school had made him an adult, with an adult understanding of the world and its cruelties. She might not mean to damage him, but she would. The branch beneath them would crack, and they’d both tumble into darkness.
He’d learned his lesson long ago. Reveal vulnerability, reveal emotion, and someone else would exploit it. Would mock and hurt and target the most fragile, hidden parts of him. And if that didn’t sound like the friend he’d known for a decade and a half, so be it. He still wasn’t exposing his heart to anyone, not even Lucy.
What if she changed her mind? Or laughed and said she was only joking? Or fell in love with another man? Or grew tired of his baggage and his cowardice and left him naked and alone and heartbroken?
A smart man protected himself, even from the woman who owned his soul.
He was clenching the sheet so hard he heard stitches pop.
His voice emerged rough and hoarse. “You should make major work decisions without worrying what other people think or want.”
She flinched. But within a moment, her lips had firmed in determination. She wasn’t letting the subject go. Wasn’t letting him redirect her toward safer ground.
“Usually, yes. But not in this case.” She tugged the sheet out of his grip and took his hand. “Before I upend my life to be with you, I need to know how you feel about me.”
What could he say? How could he assuage the dawning hurt in her eyes without revealing too much of himself in the process?
His fingers spasmed against hers. “I…I care about you.”
“I know th-that.” Her voice cracked on the words, and he wanted to die with the shame of it. “But that was true when we were fifteen too. I need to know how you feelnow. Whether your emotions have changed over time. Whether they’re powerful enough to alter the course of my life.”
He sat beside her, still and silent, for a long, long time.
“I don’t know what else to tell you,” he finally said.
At that, her breath hitched. Hard.
Her gaze dropped to her lap, and he could see her blinking rapidly. Tears. He’d driven her to tears, the woman he’d never, ever wanted to see in pain. His arms were trembling with the need to surround her, to comfort her, to enfold her and keep her close forever.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let himself move an inch. So she fought her tears alone.
She should hate him for that. Knowing her, she probably didn’t.
Luckily, he hated himself enough for both of them.
For some reason, she was still holding his hand. In her other palm rested the worry stone, as always. Her thumb circled the smooth surface of the amethyst, around and around, until her breathing evened and the too-bright sheen of her eyes faded.
Then, after one last circle, her fingers turned lax against his, and he knew. It was done.
