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“Scottie, you can’t tell Koen.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not real if we don’t make it real.”
“Price—”
“Please.”
Price has put me in a terrible position to keep this from Koen.
“Do you really love me?” I whisper.
He narrows his eyes. It’s unfair of me to ask him this on the heels of an emotional breakdown, but I’m in an awful situation. I need him to understand something—something I can’t tell him.
“Because I love you. I’m so in love with you, Koen Sikes.”
The muscles in his face relax. “Of course, I love you.” He presses his lips gently to mine.
I smile. It’s a sad one, but it’s also honest and raw. And it’s killing me to keep this from him. “I can’t tell you why I’m so emotional. It’s not mine to share, even if it’s mine to bear. And the reason isn’t selfish or petty. It’s the right thing to do. And I need you to love me andtrustme.”
His hands slide from my face, landing idle at his side. “Scottie.”
“I wouldn’t ask this if?—”
“Then don’t.” He shakes his head, taking a step away from me. “Please tell me you see how rich this is? You’re asking me to blindly trust you after your bad day, but when I had a bad day, you right away assumed I was drinking.”
I start to plead my case, but I close my mouth before the first word escapes. “What I did was defenseless. That was terrible of me.”
He stares at me as if he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
I shrug. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“I don’t know how to deal with this. I’ve been transparent with you about my life. I need that in return.”
“I want to tell you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Is it a life or death situation?” he asks, each word bleeding sarcasm.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Koen rubs his hands over his face. “Christ, Scottie. I need a minute. I can’t even think right now. Come on, Scrot.” He slips past me toward the door.
I grab his wrist.
We have a stare-off. The pain feels like quicksand. And I don’t know who’s saving who or if we’re both destined to go under.
“Don’t go.”
“I need space.”
“I need you.”
He shakes his head, pulling out of my hold. The door clicks shut behind him, and he treks toward his truck with Scrot behind him. A few feet from the front bumper, he stops, dropping his head for a few seconds before pivoting. He’s coming back.
