Just like that, the high crashes. Her entire body tenses up.
My gut sinks. I thrust a few times to get us back to where we were, but it's pointless.
She shifts forward, pulls off of me, and sits up. She drags the sheet with her like it's armor.
My hand hovers behind her, frozen. "Willow?"
She doesn't turn around. "Don't say stuff like that."
I sit up. "Why not? It's the truth."
She wraps the sheet tighter around herself and then turns toward me, glaring. "Because you always ruin it, Wyatt."
My chest caves in. "I?—"
"All my Christmases have been ruined since you took off. Did you know that? You left, and every year, I fake smiles for my family, because none of it's been the same without you," she hurls.
I shift closer. "Mine were horrible too. But I didn't know you still loved me. I thought you never would again. But now I know you still do. And I'm going to make it up to you."
Her laugh is hollow. "You can't make up for seven years of heartache. You walked away like I didn't matter."
I reach for her. "It wasn't like that, and you know it."
"No? Sure as hell felt like that," she fumes.
Anger hits me, taking me by surprise. I assert, "You need to take a bit of the blame here."
She jerks her head backward. "I have to take the blame?"
I nod. "Yeah. I called you. You never took my calls."
She shouts, "You were drunk!"
"You never answered. You avoided me any chance you got," I say in the calmest tone I can.
"You broke me!" she states.
"You don't think I was broken?" I ask.
Tense silence fills the air.
Her lips tremble.
I take a breath and admit, "You weren't the only one who struggled, sugar. And I'll take responsibility for my role in this, but you aren't innocent."
Her eyes fill with tears. She looks away and wipes her face.
I scoot closer and wrap my arm around her. I insist, "It doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is we still love each other. And this time, I won't fuck it up, and that means you won't have a chance to either."
She shakes her head, then turns back to me, eyes glassy. "I can't go down this road again. I can't sneak around and lie to my family only to get torn apart the second you get scared or your career takes off and you bolt."
I clench my jaw. "I didn't leave because we had a pregnancy scare. I left because I didn't know how to stay."
She laughs while crying. "You didn't know how to stay? I thought I was having your baby, and you didn't even ask me if I was okay."
My chest tightens. I take eight breaths, then confess, "I won't lie. I didn't know how I would ever be a good dad, but that isn't why I left. I needed to make something of myself before I could be the man you deserved. And you ended up not being pregnant."
"So that made it right to just bolt before I woke up the next morning?” she accuses.
