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“Because it doesn’t mean anything.” I motion toward his drink.
He pushes the chip back toward me. “I’m not drinking.”
“Then explain this shit.”
“Have a seat and I will.” Besides his clenched jaw and rough voice, he does a good job at tempering his anger.
It only pisses me off even more. The only reason I take a seat is because I feel like my legs might give out at any moment.
The hardness in his expression softens as he takes a good look at me. “It’s not what you think.”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “Of course it isn’t.”
“Give me a little more credit than this. I’m not risking everything with you for bottom-shelf vodka and flat soda.”
I stare into his eyes. “Then why order a drink in the first place?”
“Because I want to prove to myself that I’m stronger than my biggest weakness.” He stares at the glass in between us like it’s the enemy.
My mouth drops open.
The fight leaves him with a single deep exhale. “How can I expect you to trust me if I don’t trust myself?” His voice cracks. There is a slight tremor in his hand, and I grab on to it instinctively, wanting to ease some of his pain.
Our fingers interlock. Warmth spreads up my arm like wildfire, sparks shooting off my skin like embers off a flame.
I push the drink away from both of us. “You’re doing this because you don’t trust yourself?”
“Learning to trust myself again is a process.”
“Then find a different one because this is torture.”
His gaze lifts. “It’s not nearly as bad as knowing you still don’t believe anything I say.”
My chest caves in on itself.
“What do you expect? You hid a pretty big secret from me.”
“I’m going to fix it.”
“How?”
“It might take you a few years, but I’m pretty sure I can wear you down.”
My eyes widen.“Years?”
“All I have is time.”
“You plan on living at the motel for years?”
He recoils. “God, no.”
“Then what?”
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the scar on top of my knuckle before letting my hand go. “You’ll see.” He stands.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go hang out with Wyatt.”
