If he really wanted to see me, he could have called and left me a message that he’d moved back. I would have been there in a heartbeat, and he damn well knew it.
Or would I have? The thought surprised me.
“I’ve missed you,” he continued, taking a step closer.
Breathe, Dakota. Breathe.
But it wasn’t his words threatening to overwhelm me. It was the confusion. The complete absence of the feelings I’d expected to flood back the moment I saw him again.
Had I cried it all away? Was that even possible? To love someone so completely and then just … not?
“Your job,” I managed. “Did you leave it?”
“Another firm made me an offer in Chicago.” His smile turned rueful. “I’m joining as part of an investment committee here for potential buyouts or growth capital injections.”
Finance lingo.
“Can we talk?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine.
Seriously? He had been in town for three weeks and had made no effort to contact me. If we hadn’t literally bumped into each other, maybe he never would.
“If you wanted to talk to me, you know my phone number,” I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm.
He grabbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t take my calls when I moved away. Figured you wouldn’t answer after everything.”Everything. Such a simple word for such a complicated history. “Plus, I assumed you hated me for what I did.”
A flash of anger surged through me. Finally, something I could actually feel. “I never hated you, Mathew. I understood your choice. But it was a choice.”
He nodded, a shadow passing over his face. “I regretted it from the second I made it.”
I waited for my heart to leap. For validation. For joy.
“I didn’t want to leave you, Dakota.” His voice grew thick with emotion. “I almost didn’t get on that plane. I almost turned right around and came back. I almost quit more times than I can count just to come home to see you.”
These were the words I’d fantasized about hearing. The declaration I’d imagined a thousand times during those long, lonely nights after he left.
So why did they feel like they were bouncing off glass?
I took a step back, folding my arms across my stomach in the defensive posture I’d adopted when I’d been mourning what we’d lost. But now it felt more like protection from my own confusion than from him.
“It turns out,” he continued, “having the career of your dreams means nothing if you can’t share it with the woman you love.”
“… the woman you love.”Present tense.
“I’ve been writing a speech.” He looked sheepish.
“A speech?” I arched an eyebrow.
“That’s why I haven’t called yet,” he said. “I kept thinking I needed to find the perfect words first. Every time I picked up the phone, I’d freeze. What could I possibly say?” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Turns out, there’s no perfect way to sayI screwed up the best thing in my life.”
I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret, the longing, the suffering.
And I felt … empty. Confused. Lost.
What was wrong with me? This man had been everything. The love of my life. The one I’d mourned for months.
Somewhere in that mourning, had I let him go completely?
“I never should’ve left, Dakota.”
