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“I’m sorry about this morning,” I say.
His eyes meet mine, and he nods as he sips his water.
“What was I supposed to think, you know?” I pace. “She told me you and she go way back and that I should be worried, and then I see you get a napkin out of your pocket and sneak out of the room to read it.”
He shakes his head in disgust. “Why do you think I came to Australia to get you, Bridget?” He pats his lap.
I sit down on his lap. “I don’t know, why did you?”
“Because something was missing.”
My eyes search his. “Missing?” I ask.
“I’m not like you, Bridget.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t…” He pauses as he searches for the words.
“You don’t what?”
“I don’t… I’ve never… Since I left you, I haven’t found anyone I want to spend time with.”
I raise my eyebrow sarcastically.
“Half an hour having sex is a lot different to spending extended time with someone and building a relationship. I don’t know these women and I don’t want to. I always left straight after.” He shakes his head, as if disgusted. “Ten minutes wasn’t worth the way I would feel after.”
I look away angrily. “Stop talking about it. I hate the thought of you having sex with other people.”
“So do I. And every time I would do it I felt guilty, as if I was playing up on you.” His eyes drop to the floor. “It was like I was still with you, but …” He shakes his head as if confused.
I watch him.
“It wasn’t the same. I never had the same connection that I had with you.”
I smile softly and kiss his big, stupid lips.
“I came and got you because…” He pauses and frowns as his eyes hold mine.
“Because why?”
“I knew you didn’t need me, but—” His eyes drop to the floor again.
I lift his face to meet mine. “But what, Ben?”
“But I needed you.”
Our eyes are locked.
“I kept thinking that you were better off without me and that I couldn’t give you the normal that you deserved.”
“Ben,” I whisper.
“But I had to be selfish.” He shakes his head sadly. “I had to come back and give myself a chance at happiness.”
I smile softly. “You’re an idiot.” I kiss his lips. “Why didn’t you just tell me back when you left me?” I ask.
He frowns. “Bridget, you were twenty-two at the time. You would have handled it a lot different to what you do now.”
I frown.
“Maybe I had it all wrong, and maybe you would have understood.” He shrugs. “But at that time, I was away a lot. I would have had to lie to you all the time. I couldn’t stand the thought of it.”
I watch him sadly, and finally I’m getting some insight to what happened.
“I watched you grieve when that all went down back then.” He pauses. “I couldn’t help you.”
“You just had to be there, Ben,” I whisper. “I didn’t want your help.”
His eyes meet mine. “I know what it’s like to grieve deeply, Didge. I know what despair feels like, and I didn’t care if I died. I knew what I signed up for.” I kiss him softly. “But I couldn’t put you through it.” He rubs my leg. “You have this snarky, tough exterior, Didge, but deep down you’re sweet and gentle. I couldn’t knowingly do that to you.”
My eyes lose focus as he hits a raw nerve.
“Don’t ever think that because I wasn’t with you it meant that I didn’t love you,” he whispers. “It was so hard to stay away.”
I lean my face against his, and I feel overcome with sadness for what we have both been through.
“It’s completely ridiculous that you would feel the slightest bit insecure,” he whispers as his eyes hold mine. “You are the only woman I’ve ever wanted. Ever loved. Do you really think that after the hell I went through without you that I would fuck it up now?”
I smile despite my tears. “You know, you can be quite romantic when you want to be Mr. Statham,” I whisper.
He smiles, and shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Everyday you say something to me I have never heard before.”
I smile. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
I kiss him softly. “Do you know how much I love you, Ben?”
His jaw clenches, as if he’s overcome with emotion, and his eyes search mine. “Not half as much as I love you.”
“Take me back to bed,” I whisper.
He kisses me and stands while holding me like a bride. “Yes, ma’am.”
I walk around Ben’s room naked as I look at his bookshelves. He has photographs and memorabilia things everywhere. It’s like a treasure trove. He is in bed with his hands resting behind his head as he watches me. I point to a photo of three men. “Who are they?” I ask.
“They used to live with me in my barracks.”
