Tears threaten all over again. My words come out in a pitiful whisper. “Why are you being like this?”
“You know why.”
“Because your mom is gone? Because you don’t know how to deal with it? Let me be here for you, Colson. That’s all I’m asking.”
He scrubs his hands over his face, twists so his back is facing me, then spins around so fast that I don’t see it coming. His abrasiveness. “I don’twantyour help, Violet. I don’t want Sebastian’s.Get it through your thick heads. I want to be left alone!”
I press the cold bag to my ankle. Every word he says cuts into me like a razorblade, and I just know they’ll scar long after this conversation is over.
Because I’m so damn exhausted from the last few days of worrying about him while multitasking with studying for finals, I finally snap. It doesn’t matter how nice I am, how kind my words are or how compassionate my actions, he isn’t hearing what I’m saying. And I’m done—done—with him treating me like what we have is nothing.
Like I’m easily disposable.
He’s kidding himself. Delusional if he thinks I’m going to give up on him as easily as he’s giving up on me.
I clutch the chilled bag of food, caring less about the mild twinge in my ankle, and throw it at his stupid chest. It thuds against him then smacks to the floor. I can tell he’s close to the end of his rope. That if I act out more, it might have him tossing me over his shoulder so he can haul me out to my car himself. Well, I’m at the end of my rope, too, utterly fed up with him and the days he let go by without responding to me.
His gaze drops to the makeshift ice pack on the floor. He picks the bag up and tosses it on the counter. It skids to a stop against the wall. “You don’t want to ice your ankle, suit yourself.”
“You’re a coward,” I insult, hating the way it sounds on my lips and makes my stomach curl in on itself.
His brows push down, and without warning, he steps closer. I’m still sitting in the chair he brought over, but I don’t care how tall he is or how close he stands. He’s not the man I thought he was if he can’t eventryto fight.
I lift my chin against his intimidation. His jaw clenches. “You want everyone to think you’re so strong.” A choked laugh leaves me. “You stood in the alley at Lucy’s and told Sylvia you’dbegsomeone to end you if you ever did something as low as Nelson.”
“Don’t fucking compare me to that guy. He was a piece of shit covered in sprinkles. I’m not forcing myself on you. The exact opposite, actually.”
There’s enough space for me to stand, and I do, wishing I was this close to him for a different reason. My chest presses to his. He doesn’t back away. Neither of us stand down for the sake of the other. “Tell me how pushing me away and telling me to ice my ankle in my carmakes youanybetter.”
“I didn’t put my hands on some woman when she didn’t want it.” The muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’dneverdo that, and you know it.”
He’s seething, fumes coming out of his ears at the comparison. He’s right, in a way. He’s not on the same playing field as Nelson, and I do know he’d never force himself onto anyone who didn’t want it, but I’m distraught over him not giving me the time of day.
I hate myself for resorting to hurting him with my words, but what else am I supposed to do? Get down on my knees and beg for his love? For his attention? Attempt to break into his mother’s house all over again?
“Maybe I do, but it doesn’t change that you’re still cowering. That you’re being a pussy instead of being the man I know you a?—”
He reaches for me so fast, one hand grasping the back of my head and the other grabbing my thigh on the side opposite of my hurt ankle. He wraps my leg around his waist and swings me around until I’m flat against the refrigerator door.
My heart jumps in excitement, and embarrassingly so, a rush of heat travels low in my stomach. I keep my arms by my sides,too scared to reach out because I don’t want him pulling away, as he presses his forehead against mine.
I’m gifted with the clean spicy scent that always follows him. I breathe deeply. His touch, no matter what emotion it stems from, feels like home. Like the warm baths I’ve gotten so used to these last few months, it comforts me.
His tone trembles when he speaks. I imagine his chest tightening along with the way his voice breaks. “What do you want from me?”
I swallow at the lump in my throat, incapable of words.
“What? Don’t have anything to say? You were fine running me down into the ground a second ago. Have you run out of insults, or are you just surprised that I’m finally giving you what you want? That I’m finally touching you?”
His face hovers so close to mine that all I can focus on is the weight of his body against mine. We’re chest to chest, and with a little bit of effort, we could be lip-locked and drowning out all this hurt with something sweeter.
Just as I’m about to say something, he nudges his nose against mine, his warm exhale spreading over my skin in the best possible way.
“I’m sorry,” is what leaves my mouth when I finally find the courage to talk.
He tilts his head to the side and drops his face to my shoulder. His nose climbs up my neck, running slowly across my skin until goosebumps pebble under my clothes.
“Don’t ever apologize for how you feel,” he whispers in his delicate voice I’m used to, pressing his beautiful lips to the spot below my earlobe. Tingles ignite under my flesh and move in every direction. His hand that hooks my leg to his side squeezes into my thigh.
