Page 18 of Home Is Where You Are

At that moment, with my hand still in his, I looked around the room and finally took in my surroundings.

With the glare coming from the light of the bathroom, I noticed more of Gentry’s things in the space than I had when I first entered the room.

Why hadn’t I paid more attention until now?

He apparently lived here.

But why?

I didn’t regret leaving. I just hated the fact that I wasn’t fully informed. I wished someone would’ve warned me.

“I should go,” I said as I let go of his hand and went to walk around him. He gently grabbed my arm to stop me.

I looked down where his hand held my arm and then up at him, confused as to why he’d try to stop me.

That touch.

The feel of his hand on me.

The feel of his calloused fingers gently wrapped around my arm brought back so many memories.

“Wait. Why did you come up here?”

“It’s nothin’. I’ll leave you to get some sleep,” I replied, looking away so he couldn’t see the turmoil in my eyes. He’d never missed a beat before in reading my emotions, and I couldn’t forget that. Especially when he’d already seen more than he should have.

“It’s not nothin’. Tell me,” he pleaded.

I let out a breath of frustration, knowing that he wouldn’t let it be.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I whispered. I couldn’t tell anyone, especially him, how much being in that room still affected me. They’d know that I didn’t heal while I was away, and I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.

“Try me, butterfly,” he said as he stepped forward and looked down at me.

That nickname. It always affected me, even more so now, because I didn’t understand how he could call me that when I’d hurt him so badly.

Letting out a sigh, I looked into his eyes. His eyes held so much pain and mirrored my own.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I asked, changing the subject. I wasn’t ready to talk about how much pain I felt being back here.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”

My brows furrowed. I hated when someone answered a question with a question, but I didn’t have a right to call him out on it. I deserved for him to ask me questions. I deserved so much more from him that didn’t include him being nice to me.

“I don’t deserve it,” I admitted as I looked away.

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. I needed to get out of here. Being this close to him made my heart happy, but it also felt like I would break in two because of how badly I’d hurt him.

I felt his finger touch my chin as he placed just enough pressure to move my face to look at him.

“What do you think you deserve?” he asked, the tone of his voice gentle but laced with something I couldn’t quite explain.

“You to hate me,” I managed to answer as part of my heart shattered at what I’d just admitted aloud for the first time. Tears fell from my eyes at the honesty I’d just given him.

He didn’t respond to my words. We stood there staring at each other. He stepped closer and rested his forehead on mine as I cried while looking into his eyes.

A few moments later he asked me again why I was out in the loft.

“I couldn’t sleep in that room. In that house. It’s too hard. But I’ll find somewhere else. Don’t worry about it,” I finally admitted as I tried to get him to let go of the hold he had on me. Physically, that was possible, but I’d probably never be able to remove the hold he still had over my mind nor heart. We shared a connection that I’d tried to break. But in just the few hours that I’d been home, I knew that I hadn't succeeded.