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“Good.” She took another lap from one side of his office to the other. “So, you’re carrying around a boatload of guilt, and playing the martyr and letting her try to move on with her life.” She shot him a look. “Martyrs aren’t sexy, by the way.”
She sure as hell wasn’t holding back. “Noted.”
“So, as my sister is telling me the insane deal she put together with you, I can’t help wondering what your motivation was. For screwing her, I get that—it was fulfilling a lifelong dream.”
He couldn’t let that stand. “No.”
She stopped. “No? Which part? Screwing my sister being a lifelong dream or—”
“Stop saying that. Fuck, Becka. I didn’t manipulate your sister into bed with me. She came to me.”
She propped her hands on her hips. “Aha. It wasn’t the sex, then. It’s the guilt.” She pursed her lips. “Guilt isn’t any sexier than martyrdom.”
“Why are you here, Becka?” He needed her to get to the point of this verbal thrashing so she’d leave. She wasn’t saying anything Gideon hadn’t already gone over more times than he could count. He’d replayed every step and second-guessed every action. It all added up to a mistake he couldn’t take back.
He still wasn’t sure if the mistake was agreeing to help Lucy—or leaving her.
“My point is that you love the shit out of my sister and have for years, but you decided to be the guilty martyr and make an executive decision about what she should have.” She stared him down. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“She should—”
“Sweet baby Jesus.” Becka rolled her eyes. “Here’s a tip—take ‘should’ out of your vocabulary when you talk about my sister and her future. You might care about her, but ultimately, you don’t get a vote. She’s an adult. She can make her own choices. And she chose you, you asshat.” She shook her head. “The question is whether you are willing to choose her instead of your idealized version of her.” She snatched up her coat. “If I had a mic, I’d drop it, but you get the picture. Woman up or don’t, but unless you have a good grovel prepared, I don’t want to ever hear about you contacting my sister again.” She strode out the door, leaving a trail of startled and appreciative gazes behind her.
Gideon dropped into the chair behind his desk and stared at his dark monitor. Becka hadn’t said anything he didn’t already know. And yet...
And yet.
He drummed his fingers on the desk. The last twenty-four hours since the fallout with Lucy had been the worst of his life. He hadn’t slept. Food wasn’t of interest. He hadn’t even been able to work up the resolve to get good and drunk. Every time he turned around, he caught a trail of her summery scent, and the few times he’d been on the street, he’d looked for her distinctive stride even though he knew better.
He’d had his dream in the flesh—Lucy in his bed and in his life—and it’d been better than he could have imagined. He already knew she was driven and kind and had a sense of humor. He knew she loved Chinese takeout and discovering little hole-in-the-wall restaurants no one had ever heard of. He knew her parents were MIA, but she had a wonderful relationship with her sister.
He couldn’t have anticipated the passion that flared between them. Hoped, yes, but even that hadn’t encompassed reality. Lucy met him every step of the way, challenged him every step of the way. She brought fun into the bedroom even as she made him crazy in the best way possible.
And now he’d never touch her again. He’d never be able to show her a new place that he discovered. Never call just to chat with her because he was thinking of her. Never spend those fantasy lazy Sundays they kept talking about.
He’d done that.
There’s no one to blame here but me. I had it all and I shit it away.
Even if he tried to make things right, Lucy would likely tell him to get lost. She should tell him...
He went still. Fuck me, Becka is right. He and Lucy had been doing just fine before he’d started obsessing over what should happen rather than what was happening.
He’d done this. He’d ruined it.
Gideon had known that, but the truth drove home hard enough to have him rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in existence to have been so close to everything he’d ever dreamed of romantically and for him to have been the one that made it combust.
He drummed his fingers faster.
Could he fix this?
Should—
No. There was no more room for should. He was head over heels in love with Lucy. If she’d have him—if she’d forgive him once again—he’d do everything in his power to ensure that he never hurt her again. Not like this. Never like this.
