“Surprised you remember anything at all.”
“Because leaving Wren Cove immediately equates to me erasing an entire lifetime of memories? Okay.” I roll my eyes, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“Now who’s being childish?”
“Would you shut up and let me get back to work?”
“Why are you so angry?” He cocks his head to the side, humor dancing behind his eyes.
The a-hole is enjoying this.
“Why are you?” I fire back.
“Hmm.” He taps his chin. “Let me think. My dad died. I was forced to take over his company or let his life’s work amount to nothing. And now I’m stuck with you, the girl who thought it would be fun to use my heart for target practice.”
I try to hide my wince, though I’m not sure how successful I am at it.
“One. I never used your heart for target practice. I said I wanted to go to New York. You said okay. That was your choice. Two, it’s been seven years. Hold a grudge much?”
“You’re wrong there. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit.” I slap my hand down onto the top of my desk with a loud smack, not able to take any more of this man’s crap. “You had a choice, and you chose wrong. Don’t punish me for your mistakes.”
“My mistakes?” He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Yes,yourmistakes.”
“You wanna have this out right here. Fine, let’s do it. But let’s not pretend who hurt who here. I am not the villain in your story.”
“And I’m not the villain in yours,” I argue.
“Actually, that’s exactly what you are. What else would you be after the way you left?”
“The way I left, or the way you let me leave?” I retort.
“Let you leave?”
“You say you didn’t have a choice, but you did. You could have asked me to stay.”
“You made it pretty clear you were leaving no matter what I said.”
“No, I said I wanted to move to New York, not leave you. I was trying to tell you what I saw for my future. A future I intended for you to be a part of. But you just heard what you wanted to hear, that I was choosing dance over you. You didn’t stop long enough to consider that maybe I wanted you to come to New York with me.” My voice shakes, anger and emotion welling to the surface, threatening to split me at the seams.
It’s too much.
The injury. Losing my lifelong dream. Having to come back here. Having to endure this man’s cruelty because he was too weak to fight for me. It’s all coming to a head, and I fear that once those floodgates open, there will be no closing them again.
“If you wanted me to come, you would have asked me.”
“After the way you just accepted it, almost like you were relieved?”
“Relieved?” His anger flares. “You destroyed me!”
“And you destroyed me! You were supposed to fight for me, not let me go.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“If you loved me enough, it wouldn’t have even been a question. You would have done everything in your power to hold onto me. You didn’t. So while you may have convinced yourself that I’m the one who broke your heart, maybe you should take a moment and ask yourself why you didn’t ask me to stay. Or why, at the very least, you didn’t offer to come with me.”
