And she just fucking innocently blinked at him, confused about why he hadn’t blithely carried on his life in California when he gave her up.
As if their supposed annulment hadn’t felt like some kind of death to her, the way it had for him. That yes, he had to give up everything he’d built there, because it was nothing compared to her. That in a few short weeks, she had become his everything.
And when she forced him to give up her, nothing else mattered.
The state wasn’t big enough for the two of them and his broken heart. So he left. And it didn’t matter how far he went, the country wasn’t big enough, either.
That was on him. His error. Giving up so much of his heart, so quickly in such a short period of time that he couldn't recover from the blindsiding breakup.
Regret burst like copper in his mouth.
She didn’t understand, though.
And it was a live wire dangling between them. Not to be touched, not to be named. Not as long as she was trapped in his garage, snow falling relentlessly outside.
So he walked it back. “Ignore me,” he growled. “It’s just being cooped up. I need to go for a run or something.”
She didn’t look like she believed him. She took a step in his direction. “You really aren’t happy here?”
He stepped back.
She stepped forward, her brow furrowed.
He stepped back, and bumped into his tool chest.
“Josh, I—” She reached for him, her slim fingers extending out from the cuff of his red flannel shirt.
He caught her wrist before her hand could land on his chest. “Stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.” She tilted her head to the side, searching his face. Her lips parted, as if about to say something, then she thought better of it and pressed them together.
He definitely needed some kind of hard workout. Might actually kill someone for a chance to chase a soccer ball around for an hour.
This is what she didn’t understand—the ragged edge of control he was constantly riding. And the way her skin felt beneath his fingers…soft, smooth, warm…
“We need to…” He dragged his thumb along the inside of her wrist, his whole body responding to the heavy thud of her pulse against his touch. Jesus, he’d missed her. His limbs felt heavy, suddenly, because it was an effort to keep himself in check. Hard work not holding her. The challenge of a lifetime to keep his distance.
And he wasn’t up for it.
“It’s so hard to think when you’re…” He swallowed. Hard.
She twisted her wrist in his grasp, pulling free.
He let her, even as his body howled in protest.
And he waited for her to step back, to put distance between them.
She didn’t.
She just stood there, rubbing her arm where he’d grabbed her.
“Monica.”
Her eyelids fluttered shut and she shook her head. “Don’t. You hate me.”
“I don’t. I wish I did. It would make all of this easier.” Because he needed to be angry at her. Needed that fuel to keep pushing her away.
Slowly, she blinked her eyes open. Looked up at him. “Easy? Is that what you want?”
