My stomach churns as I think about how she must’ve felt. I didn’t need to look at her then—I can see it now.
She looks broken. I did that.
Was it worth it? Hell no.
Because none of this is worth seeing, this usually confident and strong woman completely broken due to my communication and trust issues.
She sits there staring into the fire, her face completely blank and emotionless. I should go over there and apologize. I should grovel for forgiveness—but not for the reasons people would think. I should because I want her to see me differently.
I want her to see I’m not a cruel man. I didn’t even do that to my exes who burned me far worse than Sloane has. Hell, Sloane hasn’t burned me—not yet—which somehow makes this whole situation worse.
I take a few steps toward her.
Close enough to fix this.
Close enough to ruin it completely.
My chest tightens, every instinct in me pushing forward—and I stop anyway.
There is no way I’m going to talk to her.
Not when I don’t trust myself to say the right thing.
I can’t.
My words will fail me. This isn’t the time—or the conversation—to get it wrong, not when I have a large piece of land on the line. That guilt is eating away at me like a flesh-eating parasite. I’m numb, and even then, I can’t just walk up to her with quiet confidence and express remorse like that.
Admitting I’m wrong to myself is a whole lot different than acknowledging it to the person I wronged, and I screwed the pooch bad here.
No, I need more time.
Eventually, I know I’ll have to speak to her again. She needs to know about the lien, but I also know I can’t ignore her forever. Six months is still a long way out, and never saying a word to each other in that time would be damn near impossible.
I walk up the steps, taking them quietly so I don’t disturb her, and step into the main house. As soon as I close the door, I glance back—and wish I hadn’t.
She’s looking toward the house. Toward the door I just walked through.
Neither one of us can see the other, but somehow, I think we both know we’re staring back at each other.
thirteen
Sloane
The effects of what happened between Gage and me weigh on me for the remainder of the week—every day stretching longer than the last, until by midweek I can barely breathe in the silence.
We avoid each other like the plague, and for good reason. I know if I speak to him at all, I’ll lose it.
I’m still furious after everything—how he could treat me like I was something disposable, tossed aside once he got what he wanted. I know men like that exist, but never in my life would I have pegged Gage to be one of them, no matter how much he dislikes me.
Moping isn’t going to fix anything. Talking to him is out of the question—but doing nothing isn’t an option either.
The more space between us, the better. At some point, we’ll have to talk—that much I know—but I shouldn’t have to keep being the bigger person. He’s a grown-ass man. He can act like one.
Unfortunately, after being around him as long as I have now, I’m not confident he ever will. I don’t know him well enough—but I know someone who does.
That afternoon, when I pull up the graveled path to his Aunt May’s home, flashbacks to the night of the community barn party wash over me. That night felt different. Like I was finally getting past the broody exterior and seeing the man behind the scowl.
What happened to that guy?
