‘Don’t leave.’
‘I have to. I can’t stay. I… need to figure things out.’
‘What things?’
His head snapped up, agitation finally breaking through. ‘Don’t you get it? I’ve been kidding myself my whole life that developing the Wellington waterfront was an honourable thing to do. It was for the glory of my grandparents, to make good what my father did.’ His laugh was short and bleak. ‘And I let it go because I was going about it exactly as my father would have done. But I don’t want to be him, which begs a question to which I don’t have an answer.’
‘What question?’
‘The question of who I am. I don’t know anymore. I’ve always been the man who wins, the man who achieves at any cost. And suddenly I’m not. And, you know what?’
Lucy couldn’t speak. She could only shake her head.
‘It scares me to death.’ His voice had dropped into a shadow of what it had been and she knew this was the truth. That, no matter what he felt, or didn’t feel for her, he was leaving because he was terrified.
His bleak face was shadowy as he turned away from her and got into the car without a backward glance.
It pulled away and Lucy stood at the gate with a single, bitter clarity in her mind:
She’d finally found the truth.
Trouble was, it wasn’t the truth she’d wanted — because it wasn’t about her.
It was about him.
* * *
Oliver didn’t look back. There was only one thing Lucy wanted to hear — only one thing he refused to tell her: that she was the reason he’d changed his plans and his life. He couldn’t say it, because it would pull her into his mess. She came from a world he didn’t know how to live in — one of decency and warmth, with family dinners and second chances. His world had trained him to take, to win, to lie when truth was inconvenient. He’d been absorbed in it for so long he no longer trusted what was real inside him.
And he would not inflict himself on Lucy MacLeod.
Chapter Twenty
The following day, Lucy kept calling. Even while she knew his decision hadn’t been about her, she felt compelled to talk to him. And that wasn’t about her either. He needed help, even if he didn’t know it.
But Oliver didn’t answer. If he truly wanted peace, he could have turned the phone off. He didn’t. That was the part that gnawed at her. He was making himself hear her.
She replayed every moment they’d had together — every look, every shift, and every softening she’d seen. There had been a connection. She was sure of it. He was sure of it too. So why refuse to name it? Why walk away without even trying to talk?
It was his last day in New Zealand and Lucy had reached a point where pride felt like a childish luxury.
She didn’t even know if he was looking at her texts anymore, but she had no choice but to tell him. If he left after she’d told him, then she knew he wasn’t the man for her.
She reached for her phone again and her thumbs stumbled over the words, as if acknowledging her desperation and lack of pride. She looked at the short message. It didn’t say what she’d wanted to say, because ‘love’ sounded ridiculous after such a short time of knowing him. She checked the message one more time. The words looked bald, laying herself on the line.
Don’t go… I need you.
She tapped send.
Need. God, she hated need. But it was honest. Without him, everything felt drained — like someone had turned the colour down on her life.
She slid the phone onto the coffee table, and waited.
A moment later it showed: Read.
Her stomach clenched so hard she had to press a hand to it. She sat perfectly still. Five minutes. Ten. Nothing.
She eased her stiff neck and sat back on the couch, forcing herself to look up, out the window. She almost felt surprised to see the world still going on around her.
