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Kristina shook her head and nailed him with a stare. “No, we can’t. We can’t do any of that. Or, maybe I should say that I can’t. Did you not hear me last weekend? I’m in love with you, Noah. And unless anything’s changed, you made your position very clear.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and willed herself not to cry. “It…hurts to hang out with you knowing you don’t want me the way I want you. Just being in the same room with you right now, it hurts too much.”
His brow rose toward his hairline as Noah closed the distance between them. This time, Kristina held her ground. “Are you…are you seriously saying we can’t even be friends?”
Kristina shrugged, not out of a feeling of uncertainty, but because she felt so damn helpless. “It hurts, Noah.”
His jaw ticked and his gaze narrowed. “So, what? You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
Sadness had Kristina’s chest throbbing. “No. I know you can’t help how you feel. But I can’t help how I feel, either. I can’t be just friends with the man I love. Because I want to tell him that I love him and touch him and talk about the future with him. And if we’re just friends, we can’t do any of that. I can’t pretend to feel something I don’t any more than you can.”
Something that looked like panic slid over his expression, and he gently grasped her by the shoulders. “Please don’t do this.”
She twisted out of his hold. “I’m not trying to do anything,” she said, her voice sounding thick and strained to her own ears. “It just happened. It’s not either of our faults.”
“Kristina—”
“Go,” she said, pressing a hand to her mouth again. A single tear tracked hotly down the side of her face, and she dashed it away. “Please just go.”
Noah spun from her and paced into the living room, his hands scrubbing over his face. “Fuck. Fuck, Kristina, we’ve been friends for twenty goddamned years.” He whirled on her, his eyes blazing.
Kristina walked to the door and opened it, and then she stood there waiting. “I know. And I will always, always cherish that.” She dropped her gaze to an indistinct point between them.
His footsteps were heavy as they stalked toward her. For a long moment, he stood in front of her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. And then he walked out the door. She quietly closed it behind him.
Then Kristina clapped her hands over her mouth, slid down against the inside of the door, and mourned those twenty years coming to an end. Her blurry gaze landed on his cooler full of ice cream, still sitting on the table.
And she’d thought she couldn’t feel any worse than she already had.
Saturday morning, Noah didn’t go to his art class. He didn’t see the point in it.
Actually, he didn’t see the point in much at all.
He’d sat on the couch all night, phone in his hand, wondering what the hell had happened to his life.
Because not only was he partially deaf and blind and no longer a Marine, but he’d lost Kristina. And the latter was his own damn fault.
Worse, overnight it had hit him—losing Kristina was far more catastrophic than losing the hearing and sight had ever been. Those he could compensate for, work around, figure out new ways to deal with.
But there was no way in hell to compensate for losing Kristina.
She was gone. That was it. And Noah was pretty sure he’d never before felt pain, because nothing had ever been this goddamned agonizing.
He looked down at his phone. He’d left Kristina about a million and a half voicemails and text messages over night. Apologizing. Begging her to reconsider. Asking to talk. She hadn’t answered. Apparently, Noah was a glutton for punishment, though, because he’d been holding out hope that she hadn’t answered because she’d been asleep. Once sunlight had slowly but surely poured between the slats of his blinds and filled his living room with its golden glow, he’d watched his phone non-stop, half holding his breath for the device to make a sound.
Now, the LED screen on his phone read 11:56.
No way was she still asleep. Which meant she was really done with him. For good.
Noah tossed the cell to the couch.
He must’ve nodded off at some point, because the next thing he knew his phone was ringing. Noah dove for it and pressed it to his ear. “Kristina?”
“Nope,” came a deep voice. “It’s Mo.”
Noah’s shoulders fell and he collapsed back against the couch. “Hey, Mo.”
“You okay?”
Foot bouncing, Noah regretted answering the phone. He had no interest in talking to anybody but Kristina right now. “Yeah, sure.”
