This isn’t happening. Though I should have known. I should have listened to my intuition. It’s my fault for letting her enter in the first place. “So you don’t want to be in this relationship?”
Her hands drop. Her eyes plead with me to understand, but it’s as if she’s on the other side of the moat, just standing there as the bridge rises and the gap widens between us. “I didn’t say that.”
“Whatareyou saying?”
She looks down at the imaginary crocodiles that keep her from swimming to me. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean the divorce is one thing, and I think I could get past that. My dad was divorced before he married my mom.”
I didn’t know that about her. There’s still a lot I don’t know. I long to know more. And she just said she could get passed my divorce, which is more than Bree had said. But her tone isn’t hopeful. “Okay … ?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to be compared.”
My chest rises and falls, and I try to get ahold of my breathing. “Are you jealous? Because you have nothing to be jealous of.”
“No.” She bites her lip. “I honestly wish you would have had a better relationship with your ex. For you. For her.”
I throw my hands up. Of all the potential responses to my confession of divorce, I didn’t expect this. If she wanted me to have a better relationship with my first wife, then why is she acting jealous? I shake my head. “It would be stupid of menotto compare possible future relationships with a relationship that failed.”
“Why?” Her chin crumples. “So you can leave me too when I fail? I’m human. It’s going to happen.”
My drawbridge halts. My heart wants to connect again. “Gemma … I’m not going to leave you.”
“If I prove myself,” she adds. “You’re not going to leave me if I prove myself.”
How did we get here? I don’t want her to feel as though she has to prove anything. I just want to know she’s a sure thing.
“I’m tired of trying to prove myself,” she whispers, and the words are carried away like bubbles in the wind before I can pop their implied accusation. “I already feel like I failed simply because I tripped and was rescued by the man who also tried to help your wife. You’re angry even though I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I rub a hand over my face. “I’m trying to use my trigger guard.”
“Your weapon is still pointed toward me.”
I picture myself on the SWAT team, clearing a house. In such instances, I keep my gun pointed ahead of me until I know I’m safe. There may be innocent people inside the house, at which point I would lower my weapon, but not until I remove any potential threat. I’m not sure how this is any different. “So what now?”
Her lips turn down and her eyes apologize. This is the expression of compassion I’d wanted to see earlier. But not in this moment. “I need time to process.”
“Of course you do.” Because she’s such a sweet woman, she’s not going to come right out and say the harsh words required for breaking up. I look down and shake my head. I’m angry at myself.
“Karson, I care about you. This is just a lot to take in.”
I hit the button to lower us toward the parking lot. “I get it.”
She reaches for my arm. The gentle connection is probably meant to soothe, but it’s like the thread holding a kindergartner’s tooth from naturally falling out. It needs to be yanked away.
“You want me to see where you’re coming from, but do you see where I’m coming from?” she begs, as though I’m asking too much of her. “How would you feel if I had an ex-husband I’d left, and I got upset every time you did something that reminded me of him?”
I snort at the unfairness of her comparison. At the unfairness of life. “I’d punch him.”
She gives a sad smile. “If punching your ex is all it took to fix us, I’d do it.”
I ache for her all over again. “No, you wouldn’t.”
“Because it’s going to take more than that.”
“What’s it going to take?” I slow our descent. We’re almost to the ground, and there’s a group of wannabe firefighters waiting for their turn. I’m going to have to let Gemma go.
“I need some time to think about it.”
I know my fear of losing her is what’s driving her away, but I don’t know how to stop it. “Okay.”
