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“Kristen.” Now, his tone is dark, matching his face, a deadly storm on the horizon.
I think it’s hearing him say my name that does it. Or it could be the fact his passcode is the date we met. Or maybe it’s just being so close to him and having him feel so fucking far away. One of those things, or all of them, or a million other little things between us cause me to snap.
The tattered threads of us that I’ve been clinging to completely come apart.
I’m so fucking angry.
At what has become of us.
At his refusal to let me reach him.
At him for giving up on us.
I jab his chest as my anger spills from me. “She won’t make you happy. You know that, right? She might get you to the White House, but she won’t fucking make you happy!”
His nostrils flare as he crushes his fingers around mine. “I gave up on happiness. You saw to that.”
“I didn’t! I told you I wasn’t ready.”
That deadly storm rages to life in his eyes. “Yes, while the guy you were fucking at the time had free fucking roam of your home you told me you weren’t ready. I gave you space to heal. I gave you time. I gave you everything you asked for, and then, when you were ready to date again, you didn’t choose me.”
His hurt screams at me and I understand it. But as much as I wish I could have made different choices, I chose him even though he doesn’t realize it. “I couldn’t choose you, Bradford.”
He lets go of my hand and jerks away from me. “That’s utter bullshit, Kristen, and I’m not fucking buying it.”
I try to close the distance between us, but he takes another step back like he can’t bear to have me close. Reaching for his shirt, I grab a handful of it and pull him toward me. “I’ll tell you what would have happened if I chose you then. I would have destroyed everything we had. I was angry. I was hurting. I was toxic. And I would have taken all of that out on you. I hated men during those months that I didn’t date. I wanted to retaliate with my own awful behavior, and I knew that, so I stayed away from dating. When I was ready to go back out into the world, I chose anyone but you. I needed to figure out how to date with my new boundaries so that I didn’t screw things up with you when we started dating.” I grip his shirt harder. “I chose you by not choosing you.”
The look in his eyes tells me he wants to believe me, but he doesn’t. “I’m still not buying it. Not with that text you sent me and not with what you did afterwards.”
“Oh my God, Bradford, I don’t fucking know what you’re talking about!” I’m clutching his shirt like my life depends on it, yelling in his face, and I can’t stop any of my pain from crashing out of me. “You keep talking in riddles, saying things that make no sense, acting likeIdid this to us. I didn’t do this to us! This is not on me! I did the work on myself that we needed if we were ever going to have a chance together. You didn’t wait. You told me I was the one thing you needed to breathe, and you told me years ago that good friends don’t walk away when things get hard. And then you did exactly that.” I let go of his shirt so I can smack my hands to his chest. “You did this, not me!”
His hands seize mine. Gripping my wrists tightly, he yanks my body to his. “I was the best friend you ever had, Kristen, and I didnotdo the walking away. Even after you told me you weren’t ready, I waited. But that text…fuck”—heavy breath forces its way out of him as those dark rolling clouds in his eyes look ready to unleash danger—“when you send a man a text like that, it fucking destroys him and he’s left with no choicebutto walk away.” More of that ominous heavy breath finds its way from him to settle between us. “You did do this.”
My heart is violent in my chest. “I didn’t send you a text! Show me!”
He doesn’t let me go, doesn’t move. He just keeps his hands tightly around my wrists and my body hard against his while he watches me like he’s furiously trying to contain the storm that’s raging inside him.
I attempt to wrench my hands free but my strength is no match for Bradford’s. But still, I struggle against him, yelling, “Show me!”
The hurricane of emotions he’s kept to himself finally thunder out of him.
Instead of doing what I say, he brings one hand up to wrap around my throat while keeping a firm hold of me with his other. Forcing me back against the wall, he brings his face down to mine. “It wasn’t enough for you to torture me for the last year and a half? You want to keep going?”
Savage dark energy twists its way around us as Bradford presses himself into me. He wears fury, he exudes fury, he breathes fury. And I don’t understand any of it.
I try to remove his hand from my throat but he doesn’t allow that. “You’re the one doing the torturing. You’re—”
“No!” He yells, his face so close to mine that his voice is a weapon. “I loved you and you took that love and destroyed me with it.”
The violence in my chest stops.
He loved me.
He loved me.
He loved me.
I grasp his face with one hand while my other one grips his shirt. I’m trying to get closer. I need to get closer. “You loved me.”
