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He laughs, and it’s a frustrated, angry sound. “I didn’t lie to you. I had meetings. I had a meeting with her, just like I had meetings with other people over the course of the day. I decided to conclude our meeting over dinner to save time. Are you satisfied, or would you like a fucking list of every single person I spoke to yesterday?”
I feel as if he slapped me. “I’m not supposed to care that you were out with someone else when you told me you’d be working? I’m not supposed to care that you didn’t think to mention it to me until I saw it online? Fine then,” I shrug. “I don’t care.”
He glares at me, then turns away, pulling out his phone from his pocket to make a call. “You can come back now,” he says curtly before disconnecting and making another call. “She’s here,” I hear him say, then after a pause. “No, she’s okay.”
He pushes the phone back into his pocket and glowers in my direction. “Do you realize I had my driver searching the streets for you? Do you realize your cousin was worried about you? You preferred to take a walk across the city, at this time, alone, because you saw a picture online. For fuck’s sake, Rachel! Do you know what could have happened? How would I ever fucking forgive myself if anything happened to you?”
His voice is raised, his jaw hard and tight, but he has that sad, haunted look in his eyes, the one I saw last weekend, the night he told me about his mother. Shame descends on me what I realize what I’ve done. She left too, based on something someone told her. Something she didn’t wait to confirm.
I cover my face with my hands. “Landon, I didn’t think...”
“No you didn’t,” he looks resigned. “You were too eager to indict me.” He spears me with his eyes, and I see the accusation in the blue depths. “Are we still at this stage, Rachel? Are you still looking for excuses to walk away?”
I don’t reply. His car appears on the street and comes to a stop beside him, Joe behind the wheel.
“You can go up now.” Landon’s voice is emotionless. “I’ll send your things later tonight.”
He turns towards the car, going to open the back door. I know what I’ve done, and the realization of how much I’ve hurt him settles like a weight on my shoulders. If he leaves now… I can’t bear to think that he might never come back.
“Wait,” I say, my voice breaking on the word. “Please, Landon.”
He stops and turns to look at me. My eyes are wet, and I feel as if I’m hurting all over. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, and I inhale, a tear rolling down my cheek. He mutters a curse, then he’s walking towards me, holding my body to his with one hand while he wipes the tear from my face.
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, burying my face in his chest.
He breathes. “Are you sure you won’t go up? Laurie was very worried.”
I shake my head. “No. I want to come with you.”
WE don’t say much during the drive back to his place. I can tell he’s deep in thought, and I wish I knew what he was thinking about. I switch my phone back on and see all the texts from Laurie asking where I am, and I respond with an apology and an assurance that I’m alright.
She replies immediately.
“What happened?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
*Confused face*
Then.“Landon was out of his mind with worry. You’ll have to try harder to convince me that he doesn’t feel something for you, maybe something as deep as what you feel. Just my opinion.”
I look from my screen to Landon’s face, he’s looking out of the window, the line of his jaw illuminated by the lights from outside the car. His face is unreadable at the moment. If he feels anything now, I decide, it’s probably annoyance, impatience, and disappointment that I hadn’t cared to think my actions through.
I don’t reply Laurie’s last text. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to give myself any hope. I may not have gone into this clear-headed, but I know I have to be strong enough not to punish myself, or him, for the decision I made to stay with him.
In his apartment, the dinner I ordered is in the kitchen, still warm in the hot plates. Silently, Landon pours me a glass of wine, then disappears upstairs. When he returns, he has changed out of his work clothes and is wearing sweats and a t-shirt.
“You should go change,” he tells me. His voice is sober, and he hardly looks at me. “I’ll lay out the food.”
Silently, I do as he says, making my way upstairs to his bedroom, where my bag is still sitting on one of the chairs. In the bathroom, I wash my face, then go into the dressing room. I’m about to reach for one of his t-shirts when I notice that the other side of the large space, which was empty the last time I came over, now has clothes hanging from the racks, clothes that from their varied colors, cannot possibly be for a man.
Don’t bring anything, he’d said, and now I realize why. There are at least two weeks’ worth of clothes for the office, a few casual ensembles, and evening wear. There’s nightwear folded on the shelves, lingerie in the drawers, some simple jewelry, and shoes too. Everything I need so I never have to hesitate before coming over.
I sit on the carpeted floor and cover my face with my hands, fighting back tears. All my suspicions and fears now seem so ridiculous. There is no doubt that he wants me in his life, no doubt that I’m important to him, but while he’d been opening his home and himself to me, I’d done the one thing I promised him I wouldn’t do. I’d walked away.
