“Go away, Javier,” I said loudly enough for him to hear.
“I will not go away. I want to talk to you.”
“I’m not in the mood to talk.”
There was a stretch of silence so long that I thought he was going to walk away. But then he said, “I amso sorry, mi amor. I did not mean a word I said to you. I swear.”
I felt a flutter in my stomach and also the urge to flick the stupid butterflies away for falling so easily for his apology.
But this was Javier, and Javier was not the type to bullshit anyone. What you saw was what you got with him, no sugarcoating.
“I was just upset,” he went on. “It was wrong to take that out on you. Please, Octavia. Open the door.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I want to look into your eyes and apologize the right way. I do not want to be behind a door and blocked from you. I ... I just need to see you.”
A sigh escaped me. This time I didn’t have the urge to knock the butterflies away. Instead, I took the stairs down from the loft and walked barefoot through the guesthouse.
I paused and drew in a deep breath before unlocking the door.
Javier lifted his head up as soon as I cracked the door open. Whatever was left of my guard instantly lowered when I caught sight of him.
God. It pained me to see him like this, with his eyes so red and his lashes damp. He almost started to tear up again, but I opened the door wider to throw my arms around his neck.
With a shaky breath, he held on to me as I hugged him tight.
“I am sorry,” he whispered in my ear. “I did not mean it. I swear, I did not mean it.”
“I know,” I whispered back.
He pulled away, but only so he could clasp my face in his hands. “Do you forgive me?”
I blinked to fan my tears away. “Yes, I forgive you.”
“Okay,” he responded, sounding relieved.
I stepped back, and he followed my lead, entering the guesthouse. He had to duck his head to do so, but he managed. I held his hand and walked to the sofa so we could sit.
We sat in silence for a while. My thoughts were so loud and sharp, and I was positive his were too.
“Listen,” I said, squeezing his hands. “I know I didn’t birth Aleesa, and I know I canneverbe Eloise. I don’t wish to be her or to try and replace her, to make you regret or resent her—none of that. But you should know that I would doanythingfor Aleesa. Okay? I woulddiefor her. Do you hear me?”
He nodded. “Yes, I hear you.”
“I can’t be her mom,” I continued, “but Icanbe someone who is there for her through thick and thin. I can be someone who is there for her no matter the situation, just like a loving parent or caregiver would be. Why? Because Ilovethat little girl. I love her so much, andnothingthat you say or do to me willeverchange how I feel about her.”
His throat bobbed as tears accumulated in his eyes. “I understand, and again, I am so sorry.” He stroked my cheek with his thumb, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You mean so much to me and Aleesa.So much.And yes, I know you did not birth her, but you treat her as if she is your own, and I am very thankful for that.” His lips twisted, but he didn’t dare let me go. “I know you probably have the urge to leave now, but there was no way I could let you walk away from me without at least apologizing to you face to face. If you want to go, I will not stop you, because I understand.”
I could hardly see him through my blurring vision. I blinked, causing the tears to roll down my cheeks and drip onto my lap.
“I’m not leaving,” I assured him. His eyes filled with a splash of relief. “But I am scared that you’ll realize I’m not good enough for you. And I’m also scared because every time I think I’m safe with someone, life proves me wrong and I realize I’m better off alone.”
“You do not have to be afraid,” he murmured. “I am right here, Octavia. I am not going anywhere. Please trust me on that.” He paused, studying my eyes as I did his, both of us coming to a silent understanding. His gaze dipped as he contemplated his next string of words. “Truthfully, I do not feel good enough for you. You heard Rafael. Eloise was not happy with me. I had one job and that was to make her happy, but I failed.”
“Why was she not happy?”
He released my face, dropping his head and giving his lap a slight scowl. “She never wanted me to join the NBA. We met in our home country—Argentina—before the United States noticed me when I was twenty-four. When I got drafted, she did not want to come here. But by then, we were engaged, and she knew we needed to stick together as a couple. With all the traveling I did, though, she was lonely. She would come with me sometimes, but she became tired of bouncing around so much and wanted more stability. That was understandable. I believe that is what many women want.
