“Hmm. Well, if you’re a schmuck, then you’remyschmuck.” I offered him a grin to let him know I was serious.
“No one should be stuck putting up with me.” He let out a huff and quieted as our waiter came back with our food. But I found I was no longer hungry after whatever this was with Nate.
Every instinct in me told me to ask what he meant. To push and prod and ask. But in the end, I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, and I knew he’d tell me if he wanted me to know.
Turned out, I didn’t need to wait long at all.
“I don’t get people, or relationships. Not because I don’t want to, although most of the time, I couldn’t give a fuck. But I just don’t understand them or the power people give to them.”
I sat back in my chair, a slight frown on my face as I contemplated his words.
“I don’t know how to give you what you want or need. Not because I don’t want to but because I don’t have any references to look at. Things…” He hesitated and looked down at his plate with a frown. “Things that seem to come easy or naturally with other people, some things, I can’t even begin to comprehend. Facts, rationality, routine, those are things I can understand. But people and emotions… Those things are difficult for me, even when I try.”
Nate resembled a puppet whose strings were cut as he finished his little speech. In fact, I’d never seen him look more like a dejected puppy than in that moment. Not even when I’d asked him to leave after he dropped me off at home when we were supposed to have breakfast at my parents’.
His words replayed in my mind, along with some of the things he’d done and said since we met. The thoughts I tried tokeep from forming, not wanting to admit the truth to myself. Things fell into place, pieces slotted together, and the picture started to look a bit clearer. Part of me winced at the epiphany I’d had, but I could never let him see that, especially since he was already feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.
“How old were you when you were diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder?” I was proud of how steady my voice was as I scrambled to remember the more polite term thansociopath.
Nate’s eyes snapped up to mine, and I let out an involuntary whimper as I got what I assumed to be my first look at therealNathan Turner.
25
NATHAN
Aiden’s words made my blood go cold as I snapped my attention to him. I wasn’t sure what the look I had on my face had been, too stunned to school my expression. But I assumed it wasn’t good based on the noise Aiden let out.
Fuck.
I knew he would probably figure it out one day. He was smart and a homicide detective. I was sure I wasn’t the first psychopath he’d encountered. I’d been playing a dangerous game, and it looked like the time came when I would have to finally raise the stakes or fold.
Then my heart did a weird little flutter inside my chest. He hadn’t called me a psychopath. The realization turned my gaze to wonder and, perhaps stupidly, to hope. Because while the termspsychopathandsociopathweren’t really used anymore, it was the more well-known term.
“Ten,” I answered honestly. “Though, not for lack of my parents trying to find out what was wrong with me before that. It’s not really common for children to be diagnosed as a psychopath, but money really can buy anything.”
The urge to be honest and purge my sins to him was too great. I had to be careful, or I’d be admitting to a lot more than just my mental health diagnosis to him.
Aiden frowned, the crease between his eyes deepening.
“There’s nothingwrongwith you, Nate.”
My eyes widened at not just his words but the scowl that marred his beautiful face.
“Little bird,” I said with a sigh as I signaled to the waiter for our check. “I’ll take you home now.”
There was no way to explain things to him without explainingeverythingto him. While I’d never regret our time together, I knew I should have let him go after I left his hotel room the morning after the wedding. It had been stupid to continue to follow him and then insert myself into his life.
“What the fuck, Nate?” He seethed.
I’d made him angry again, which was to be expected. He’d just found out he’d been wasting his time with someone who couldn’t feel the same about him as he did about me. That thought stung because I did have feelings for Nate. And I was sure, in my own way, that it was love.
Just not in the same way he loved me.
And I knew what the sting of rejection felt like as it burned in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I kept my head down and slid my card to the waiter without even looking at the total. “You have every right to be mad at me for wasting your time.”
There was no way I could tell him how I felt, even if I wanted to. Not only did I not know how to put it into words, but it would also be incredibly unfair to him when he was already upset.
