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She didn’t miss the word probably in that sentence.
“We can do it,” he said. “I’ll buy a private jet if I have to.”
She let out a pitiful laugh. She didn’t know how he could be so cavalier about all this, and the faint remembrance of her time with Hunter rose to the surface. How he assumed it would all work out, if Bronte acquiesced enough. Chris was not Hunter, and this was not the same situation, but she wasn’t so naive to think this would be easy.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.
“It’s not ridiculous.”
“You’re afraid of flying.” She lifted her head, her eyes brimming with tears. “And it’s three thousand miles.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything. You’re going to go back and forget about me.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He cradled her wet cheeks in his palms, kissing her once, twice, three times as she hiccupped a breath, her tears flowing freely now. “Could you forget about me?”
She didn’t answer, and he loosened his grip on her so she could ease away from him. She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands to wipe her face dry then tied her hair back in a ponytail. She needed to focus on something to clear her head and began to straighten up the mess they’d made. She folded up the blanket, tossed the pillows onto the couch, and pushed the cushions back into place. She continued to avoid Chris, picking up her bra and underwear, then marched to her room to throw them in the laundry basket.
When she came back into the living room, she could feel Chris’s eyes on her as she rearranged the magazines on her coffee table, but before she could finish, he stole them from her hands. “Bronte, come on.”
She refused to look at him, and he curled his hands around her shoulders, forcing her to. He either truly believed they would get through this together, or he was much less heartbroken over this than she was because he stared at her with sure and steady eyes. “Bronte, please, talk to me. Say something. You’re breaking my heart.”
She swiped some loose strands of hair behind her ears and looked up at the ceiling. She couldn’t find words of her own, but a few from someone else filtered into her mind.
“Please,” he said again, almost a whisper.
“‘I have not broken your heart—you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.’”
Chris considered this with questions in his eyes, but she wouldn’t say any more. She couldn’t say any more. She was too upset to try.
He kissed her forehead, nose, and mouth. “I’m sorry, Bronte. I didn’t mean to surprise you like this. I’ve thought about it all night, and I don’t know what else to do…how else to keep you safe from this life until I can get my career on track. Right now, people only care about my personal life, assuming I’m another car wreck in the making, but I won’t let you get caught up in that.” He stroked her cheek gently. “I promise I won’t give up on us. I don’t want you to either.”
She didn’t want to give up on Chris, but her brain was fighting with her heart on this one.
He swiftly put on his shoes and coat and gave her a kiss. “I’ll call you later,” he said, walking to the door before spinning around for another kiss. “Last one,” he said with his lips on hers, then left without a spared glance behind.
Bronte wasn’t sure if she wanted him to look back or not. To know whether he battled with this as much as she did.
