I sure did. I deserved a guy who would stick around. Someone who wouldn’t hold being me against me.
“Thanks for locking up.” I breezed past him and pushed outside.
A wall of heat followed me out into the warm evening air. “Ruby.”
My legs twitched to break into a run. But then my skirt would fly up and betray my plain black underwear. That picture wasn’t exactly the strong-girl front I had to present.
I steeled myself and turned. “Yeah?”
Neither of us moved. Our gazes clashed. Two melancholy people. I couldn’t even gloat that he seemed like he missed me. The thought just made me sad. He liked me but not enough.
Story of my damn life.
I had wanted to get this moment done with, but I was glued in place like I didn’t want it to end.
“How are you doing?” he asked in that pleasing, deep timbre.
How was I doing? I wasn’t sleeping. Food tasted like dust. The breakup made me see how bleak my social life was. I’d been reading nothing but murder stories. “Fine. You?” I asked more because it was expected. Not out of curiosity. Not because he looked like he’d gotten less sleep than me.
“I, uh . . . it’s been rough.”
His honesty shocked me. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
My irritation roared back. “You said that.”
He shook his head. “I might’ve been... I reacted harshly. About your dad.”
My righteousness deflated—just a little. “I can only try to understand the shock you were in. Dad’s mom was a real piece of work—not that that’s an excuse. My grandparents never gave me details and they died before I got to middle school. He’s still got an abrasive personality. Still... I love him. I take what I can get.” My voice hitched on the last sentence. I clutched my purse to my chest. “But that’s the only guy I’m going to settle for good enough with.”
He flinched. “I couldn’t get over my hurt.” He let out a dry laugh. “It’s been two decades. Should be enough time.”
Part of my resolve softened. “I don’t know if there’s a timeline.”
“It’s my shit to deal with. Not yours.”
“A real couple would work through that kind of stuff.”
His expression fell. “Yeah.” He draped a hand around the back of his neck. “I can’t take back what I said, but I don’t want this to be the end of us.”
Hope swirled to life in my stomach.
I smothered it.
He wanted take backs now? He could’ve asked for time to process what he was going through. Instead, he had ended it. “Even if you could get over who my dad is, I can’t change our age difference.”
“I don’t want you to.” He adjusted his glasses. The way his biceps bulged when he did that was just unfair.
Doubt was like an ever-present shadow. “Even if Dad was here right now, telling you you’re a creeper for dating me? That you walked right into the nursery and plucked me out of the crib?”
The corner of his mouth curved up. “Even if he said that I’d been in middle school waiting for my girlfriend to be born.”
A soft chuckle left me. Then reality sank in. I was not the same girl who let herself get jerked around. “You always kept a big part of yourself from me. With Dad, you just ended it.” I gave him a helpless shrug. “How can I trust you not to end things again the next time you’re upset? And then ask for another chance?” I shook my head, my sorrow hanging heavy on my shoulders.
Remorse rippled over his expression, furrowing his brow. “I’ve never been the one to end things.”
Ouch. “Glad you saved it for me.”
