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“My dad cheated with his assistant. It’s what ended my parents’ marriage.”
I pause, stunned for a second. “I didn’t know that,” I breathe out. It makes even more sense why he reacted the way he did. “I’m sorry that happened to your family. I’m sorry it happened to you.”
“When I heard about your boss having an affair, I just assumed it was with you. And I immediately thought about my mom and how much the entire thing has destroyed her. It was all I could picture. The thought of you with him …” He grimaces like he’s in pain. “And then thinking about the way affairs destroy families and relationships …”
His eyes shift between both of mine, like he’s trying to understand me. My attention falls to his lips. Those strong lips that I’ve missed so much these past few weeks. A desire rises inside of me to kiss him. But I don’t. Because I know if I touch him or taste him, I won’t stop. And right now, I don’t know if I can forgive him for the assumptions he made. Even if they were almost true. And the fact is, he hasn’t asked for my forgiveness.
I glance away to regroup because looking at him scrambles my brain. “But here’s the thing, Zane. When you heard the rumors about me, you automatically assumed they were true.”
“I did,” he admits.
“Why?” I whisper.
The snowflakes are big and fat as they hit the ground. Slowly, they start to accumulate.
“Why would you believe the worst of me? Had I given you a reason to? I thought things were going so well …”
He sighs, then reaches out his palm to catch a flake. It instantly melts on his warm skin. “I freaked out when you talked about moving here. But not because I didn’t want you to …” His gaze drifts to my face. “But because I did want it. A lot. And it scared the shit out of me.”
“So, maybe it was easier to believe I was having an affair with a married man than to be excited about me possibly moving here? Because then you could push me away and justify it?”
He’s silent as I fill in the blanks, making me think that I’m right. I wonder if he even realized that was what he was doing at the time.
“I’m too tired to waste time on someone who’s uncertain of me.” When my hair becomes damp from the flakes, I cover my head with my hood.
“I was wrong,” he says.
I nod. “You were.” I shift so I can see him better. “But here’s the thing … I hated that you believed the worst about me. And I hated how you treated me that night at Cowboys. But the thing I hated the most is how you just accepted it as truth without even asking me. You should’ve come to me from the beginning. Especially after all the time we’d spent together …”
“I know,” he says, looking me straight in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
There’s a certain relief that comes over me when he utters those two words. He seems sincere. But is it too little, too late?
“I accept your apology.”
And I honestly do.
But forgiving and forgetting are two very different things.
I stand. He watches me.
“I need to unpack,” I mumble.
He doesn’t say another word as I walk away. With each step, the distance feels liberating and suffocating at the same time. It would be so easy to fall back into his arms. I know what they feel like when they’re holding me. He’s strong and warm. And I felt safe for a short time with him. But now, my guard is up. And I’m not sure what it would take to bring it down again. Somehow, I secretly hope he finds the key and makes the effort. Because it would be nice to fall into him again.
But for now … I let Zane go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WILLOW
That autumn day when I discovered that I was being replaced at my orthopedic job, I felt like my dreams were going up in smoke inside of that corner office. Everything I had worked so hard for disappeared in a matter of seconds. But what I didn’t realize at the time—what I couldn’t see while I was mired in the muck of that situation—was that I wasn’t living the dream at all. Instead, I was trapped inside a nightmare. And I had become an active participant in the toxicity. I just couldn’t recognize it until I gained some distance and the veil was finally removed.
But now, looking around at my surroundings, I feel lucky to have escaped the situation with only a few lessons and emotional scars to remember the time. I was able to leave the city with my conscience intact. And I’ve been picking up the pieces slowly and methodically, repairing the mess Ron made of me over the past few years.
“Patient in room three is negative for the flu,” Jane, one of the nurses, tells me as she scurries by to triage the next person.
“Thanks,” I say.
