He runs his hand through his unkept hair and looks at me with the most painful eyes I have ever seen. God, someone can drown in the loneliness there.
"I've been thinking about what you said to me," he finally gives me an answer.
My heart inflates, beating with anxiousness and a small twinge of hope despite it all. "You have?"
He swallows, his eyes averting mine once again. It's the tap of his fingers on the island and the restlessness bouncing of his leg that indicates just how nervous he is.
For a man who is always in control, and is famous for his stoic expression, it's disconcerting to see him unraveled.
"My past isn't something I can get rid of, Gracie Mae. It's not that easy," his voice breaks at the end.
"I never said for you to get rid of it, Oak. I just want you to stop living in it," I desperately tell him. "There's no life for you there. Can't you see that?"
He screws his eyes shut as he swallows thickly. When he opens them I'm paralyzed by the sight. "What I can see and what I want are entirely two different things."
"Then what do you want?"
His eyes flash at mine. "You know what I want."
"Then tell me. Tell me and we can have it." My hand reaches across the island to connect with his but he pulls away from me completely. He jolts up from the stool and walks into the family room.
I follow him there, my steps a soft whisper against the floor but my heart beats so loud I'm afraid the entire world can hear it.
He stands in the middle of the family room, his shoulders sagged in defeat, his eyes filled with pain, and looking so lost.
I ache to wrap him in my arms.
"I've been burned before, and I've lost too many people that I've cared deeply for," he gruffly tells me. It's the first glimpses of his past that he's allowed me to see.
"We've all been burned in one way or another," I reply softly.
His eyes, an ice blue flash at mine intensely. "Don't you not want to feel that way again?"
"It's inevitable. We can't pass this life without feeling it. If you're lucky it only happens once but I don't think anyone is that lucky."
"Not even you?"
I shake my head, a sad smile on my lips. "Not even me."
"Then how do you recover from it?"
"Day by day. It's naive to think that wounds can heal perfectly. There will always be a scar left behind. But the important part to remember is that those scars don't define you."
"And what if they do?" He pauses, his voice showing a vulnerability I've never heard from him before. "What then?"
I dare to take a step closer to him. I'm immediately swept with relief when he doesn't take one back. So I take another, and then another until I'm in front of him. Being brave I lay a gentle hand on his broad muscled chest, right above his heart.
His eyes flick down to my hand with uncertainty but when they meet mine I see turmoil. "Then it means you're not letting them heal."
He swallows thickly.
I hold in a breath as he brings his hand up to my face. With gentle fingers he tucks a loose strand behind my ear.
My heart bangs against the cavity of my ribs.
"What if they can't heal? What then?" He sounds so tortured. And I want nothing more than to pull him in my arms and comfort him.
I release a shocked breath when his rough big hand palms my face. Instinctively I lean into his touch. Thousands of sparks light up inside of me. A simple caress and I come alive. And I realize he's the only person who can get such a reaction out of me. I've never felt like this with any of the men I've been with before.
