Page 54 of The Has-Been

No.

It’s better for her to hate me. To stay away.

She stands from the bed, shoving me out the door. Her face is no longer pale with shadows of the past; no, it’s red, angry, and full of emotion.

Good. I want her mad. I want her to hate me.

“I waited for you to notice! I tried to tell you over and over again. But you were so blind…” Her voice trails off, and I shove my fingers through my hair.

“What are you talking about? Notice what?” I yell back, opening my arms wide. That I was destroying her happiness along with my own? That I treated her horribly at the end?

Because I did see that. Why else would I be doing this? Saying these things?

If I were Jack, and she Rose, I would have forced myself on that door, and both of us would have drowned.

But thankfully, she saw what I was doing to her. She took control and kept herself from becoming collateral damage. I’m trying to prevent that from happening again, sparing her from climbing back onto a sinking ship.

Because that’s all I am—a sinking ship. Slowly drowning myself in pain, in regret.

Hovering at the top of the steps, I say, “The only thing I noticed...was the moment you stopped loving me—the same moment you walked away when I needed you most.” I clear my voice, forcing the words over my swelling throat.

I hear her gasp, a choked sob. Her words are but a whisper, “Did you ever stop and think about what I needed? That maybe when I needed you by my side, you weren’t there? You left me first, Liam.”

She’s right. I’d never deny that accusation.

“Why did you ask me here tonight?” I press, turning to look straight into the brown of her irises as she leans against the door frame.

“Because—” She crosses her arms over her chest.

After several long moments, she whispers, “We have to be able to work together.” She doesn’t meet my stare. I wish her words would stop there. They don’t. And I can’t help but cringe as she finishes, “I don’t want any animosity or anything unprofessional, like arguing in front of the team,” she explains with a deep exhale. “I thought it might be good to get something off our chests and allow ourselves to hash out the past. I thought we could be…friends.”

There is another long silence.

Then—

“But I see now that it was a mistake. We could never⁠—”

I start down the stairs. I don’t want to hear her finish that sentence.

I take one step.

Then two.

My back is still to her as I whisper, “Hm, for the first time in a long time...we agree.”

And why does that hurt more than any of the other bullshit things I’ve said?

“Liam—” she protests from the top of the stairs. But I refuse to meet her gaze. “You can blame me all you want. Say that I left you. But I’ll never stop caring. Never stop worrying about you. So, don’t ask me to apologize for trying to be cordial. To keep an eye on you. Because I’m not sorry. Not for that.”

I open the front door. The winter air isn’t nearly as cold as my parting words: “I’m sorry, Aubrey. Sorry that I ever let myself fall in love with you. That I’ll never care for you the way you care for me.”

If those chilling words don’t kill her—like frost to a budding flower—then I’m not sure what will.

This week has been hell.

I never thought “hating” Aubrey Vaughn could be this bad. But I guess, after what I said, leaving her to believe I wish I’d never fallen in love with her, I suppose I deserve every cold word and murderous stare she sends my way.

For Aubrey’s nickname being Hearteater, I’m pretty sure that I’m the one who ripped her heart out last week and ate it...not the other way around.