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Running a hand through his hair, exasperated, he said, “You wanna ask questions now? The only reason you don’t know what I do for a living is that you didn’t fucking ask, Emily.”
He had me there, but I was too angry to care. “Or you could have just been honest and told me or maybe you didn’t because you probably knew how I’d feel about you having a dangerous job. You know I assumed you were retired from the military.”
He raised his eyebrows and threw a pointer finger into his own chest. “So you thought I just sat around on my ass all day pining for you while you were at work and living your life?”
I shook my head in disgust. “That’s not fair, Weston. You could have fucking warned me. You know I lost my husband in combat.”
He walked up to me until we were nose to nose, our breath mingling, our stares hot. “You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to know. Because whether you like to believe it or not, you’re still holding back. You’re still holding onto trauma from five fucking years ago.”
His angry eyes traced the lines of my face like they always did, but now it just hurt. It killed me, his irate, bitter stare on me.
“You didn’t ask because you didn’t want to know. You didn’t ask because you never really planned on staying, anyway. You’ve had one foot out the damn door the entire fucking time.” It was the final blow and it fucking killed.
I staggered under the force of it and backed down. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was still holding back. Maybe a part of me would never move on from all I’d suffered.
I moved toward my truck, ready to get the hell out of there. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s over,” I said, a hard tone in my voice, while my heart felt like it was breaking wide-open.
I hopped into my truck, ready to pull the door shut, but he was there, all six feet something of him, blocking my doorway, his face angry, his eyes tortured. “You’re a selfish b—” he started but didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pulling his shit together. But it didn’t matter. We both knew what he was going to say.
“Move out of the way!” I practically yelled, frantic to get out of there in case more things were said we couldn’t undo. Couldn’t unsay.
I’d thought my heart was broken when I’d seen that fire department shirt, but no, this was my undoing. This was tearing me up.
“You’re so selfish, Emily,” he said, calmly this time, still blocking my doorway, his face full of anguish. “You’re not the only one who’s scared. You’re not the only one hanging your fucking heart out there, praying someone won’t break it all over again.”
“Move!” I yelled, tears finally hitting my eyes. His words were like a dagger to my heart. I pressed my hand there to my chest, feeling one of those fat tears finally roll down my cheek.
“No!” he yelled back, moving in closer to me and suddenly my big truck cab felt way too small. “You think I planned this? You think I wanted to fall for the girl with the sad eyes and fiery heart? If you think for one second that I didn’t plan on dying alone in that little house on Fourth Street, then you’re fucking wrong.”
My eyes burned. My chest ached. His words injuring me beyond repair.
He leaned in, wiping that tear from my face. “I didn’t plan on this. I didn’t plan on you. But I’m damn sure not giving you up.”
His mouth came down on mine, hard, punishing, brutal. His hands tangled in the back of my hair, holding me to him. There was no escape.
More tears slid down my cheeks and my mouth opened, inviting him in. Because it didn’t know better. But my mind did. My mind knew this man would be the end of me.
“You have to let me go,” I whispered into his mouth, but he only kissed me harder. His hands pulled at my hair, my scalp burning. He gave me his pain and I took it. Because I deserved it. It wasn’t his fault all that had happened to me. His hands slowly loosened my hair as he backed away, the anguish in his face gone. Bleak acceptance there now.
“You’re so afraid of possible heartbreak in the future that you’d throw me away now?” he asked, his gaze frantically searching mine for answers I couldn’t give him.
I didn’t know how to explain that fire had destroyed everything I’d ever loved. That it had taken everything in the world from me.
When he didn’t get the answers he was looking for, he let out a long sigh and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from my face. “I’ll never let you go,” he whispered back, moving out of my doorway. “Go home, Slugger.”
I closed the door to my truck and frantically scrubbed my face with my hands. I hated anyone seeing me cry. But I especially hated him seeing it.
I swiped at my face with the sleeve of my shirt and cranked my truck, then pulled away.
I shouldn’t have looked back in the rearview mirror but just like with all things Weston, I couldn’t help myself and there he was, watching me drive away, his eyes begging me to turn back, to change my mind.
But I couldn’t do that. I was too afraid.
Weston may have owned my heart, but fear had an insurmountable choke hold on my soul.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to overcome it.
Where did lonely hearts go? It was clear that I didn’t know. I was like an old country song as I drove around for hours and hours on end. I’d gotten off from a long forty-eight-hour shift at the station since I’d been covering for a buddy and I’d immediately hopped on my bike and I’d been there since. Four long hours later.
