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“I was hurt. Upset. I was . . . I behaved badly. Flaunting Louisa in front of you when she meant nothing to me. My snippy responses. Every time my words pushed you away and caused friction. I wanted you to feel it too. I wanted you to ache as much as I was; I wanted to see it and know you still cared.”
Elliot squeezed Wentworth’s clammy, trembling fingers. He wanted to leap in, promise he’d always cared, but Wentworth was finally speaking.
“And then there were things you did and said and I could see it. But it didn’t solve anything. I suddenly wasn’t sure if I was projecting, reading into things too much. I couldn’t trust anything you did or said. It was—it is—torture to let myself . . .”
“Hope?” Elliot supplied.
“Yes. Tell me you need me, Elliot? Tell me these feelings are truly reciprocated? Tell me you won’t want to move on in three months, or two years, or even ten.”
“I thought at least this last week I’d dropped enough hints about how I felt. When we helped with the lighting test . . . it felt so good to be close. We responded to one another so readily—”
“Physical attraction doesn’t equate to emotional connection. This has never, not for a single second, been a question of finding you beautiful.” Wentworth’s chest expanded. “I want us to have a second chance, Elliot. I do, but . . .”
Elliot heard sincerity in every syllable except for Wentworth’s last. He let out a slow breath. “But?”
“If you are not one hundred percent invested, I cannae put my heart on the line again.”
Wentworth’s eyes met his with ragged desperation, and Elliot held his look steady. “If you want to know how I feel about you, Wentworth. Let me tell you. I have spent years listening to our breakup being played on every radio channel. I have seen you with girlfriend after girlfriend in tabloids or on the news. I have dreamed of all your energy in the same room. Every time I touch myself, every imagination has had you in it. I fail all my relationships because nothing compares to you. I could never date a man, because you’re the only man I wanted to be with.”
The tremors around Elliot’s hand increased.
“But those assurances aren’t enough without bringing up what happened. Without you knowing how I felt. Coming to some kind of acceptance.” Elliot pressed his fingers against Wentworth’s palm. “I pushed you away. I’ve thought long and hard about this. I know you want me to say I regret it.”
“Yes, I do. I do wish that.”
“But I do not. I cannot.”
Wentworth’s hold loosened on him and Elliot brought up his other hand, clasping his in place.
“That doesn’t mean if I had to make a similar decision today that I would do the same thing. If it were today, I would beg you to stay. But we were eighteen. We were young. Your whole future was before you.”
“I wouldnae o’ cared.”
Elliot let his hands go and cupped one side of his face, stroking a thumb over his cheek. “I did.”
Wentworth’s brow creased.
“I always would have wondered what if.”
Wentworth closed his eyes.
“And I think,” Elliot said. “If our positions were reversed . . .”
A croak.
Sea breezes swirled between them, salty on Elliot’s tongue. “It doesn’t mean I’m not sorry for how it happened. It doesn’t even mean I’m not sorry that it happened, because God, I missed you. God, I wanted you. But.”
“But you did the right thing.”
The ocean lapped against the boat and nearby seagulls filled the following silence.
“You missed me.” A whisper.
“Every day.”
Wentworth’s lips curved into a pained grimace. “If I had looked you up earlier, ten years ago, would you have sent me away again, or—?”
Elliot would never have managed to send him away twice.
“Oh, God, you wouldnae of. If I hadnae convinced myself you never had real feelings for me . . . if I hadnae been so consumed by my oan hurt!”
“I could have reached out too.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You’re a famous musician. Living the dream. I wasn’t even sure you’d remember me.”
“Remember? Elliot, all I am is memories.”
The passion in his voice fisted Elliot’s heart. The truth of his words lay in all their actions over the last weeks. They’d been dancing around one another, each step an echo of the past.
Wentworth had forgotten him as much as Elliot had Wentworth. Not at all.
And Elliot had seen it, had felt it. It was where all hope had stemmed.
Their breaths mingled as he whispered, “If we had a second chance? This time, there’d be a different rule.”
“Rule?” Wentworth hesitated. “What rule?”
“That there is no rule.”
Tension rolled off Wentworth’s shoulders, eyes softening with relief.
“We talk about the past. We talk about the future. We lean on one another for support. We figure out each step of us together.”
