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He stares at me, his chest rising and falling as if he just ran up and down the stairs, but he stays silent.
He.
Stays.
Silent.
Heart breaking, I inhale then exhale. “All of this…” I motion back and forth between us. “…just happened so fast. I’m not gonna lie and say that what you did—lying to me about your intentions at the start—doesn’t hurt. It does. It’s made me second-guess everything—”
Shuffling to his feet, he crosses his arms. “You should have said. I tried—”
“No. I shouldn’t have done anything. I’ve barely gotten through this week. If it doesn’t make sense to you that a week ago, I put a bullet in my father’s head and I might not be okay, then Jesus Christ, there’s no helping you.
“Was he the worst man alive? Yes, but I still killed him.Idid that.”
His mouth works. “That was my fault. I should have been the one—”
“That’s the thing, Cade. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. Shit happens. You can’t control everything. I don’t blame you.”Not for that.I grab his face with both hands, forcing him to look at me. My eyes swim with tears when he stares straight into them and hope leaps in my chest because it’s there…I can see it.
“Say it, tell me your truths,” I whisper, because maybe I don’t have to leave. Maybe we can make this work—together.
He rubs my cheek with his thumb. “Belle…” He sounds as if he’s in pain as he lowers his forehead to mine, andI knowhe’s going to tell me that he loves me. My heart flutters, hope fills me, then… “How long do you plan on being gone?”
The need to scream is unreal. I can feel the hope inside me deflating like he just pricked me with a needle.
My eyes flicker open and I shove away from him, not even trying to hide the fact that I’m devastated.
God, no wonder we suit each other—we’re both fucked up. Broken. Just in different ways.
“As long as it takes. Forever.” I shrug. “I’ll find a way to pay you back for the hospital—”
For the first time, his temper flares and I start to hopeagain… but, no. “Don’t insult me,” he snaps.
“I owe you,” I rasp.
“You owe me nothing.”
Turning away from him so he doesn’t see the tears in my eyes, I head to the bathroom. He doesn’t stop me, and he didn’t say it. So, I have my answer. I got my truths—we owe each other nothing.
Gulping, I turn on the shower and pull off his T-shirt, letting the hot water cleanse me as I wash, almost in a daze.
You need to do this.
Neither of us can think straight when we are close. We just fuck and that’s never going to work.
I turn off the water and step out, not needing to call his name to know he’s left the apartment.
I can feel he’s gone.
But the emptiness in the bedroom is almost a relief as I brace my hand on the door and stare into a room we’ve shared for nearly two weeks.
Two weeks.
No time at all, but somehow, everything has changed.
I don’t want to stay away forever, and I know that last argument was a cry for help—a plea for more—one he didn’t answer.
I return to the sink, where I start to gather the products I need to pack. But when I next look into the mirror, I straighten my shoulders.
