"Do you know how many nights I've spent sitting in my truck in front of this fucking house, trying to come up with an excuse to knock on the door? To beg you to forgive me? To tell you I will do any fucking thing you want if you will just let me in?" His eyes almost... watered.
I'd only seen him cry once before, and that day was one I would never forget.
"Do you know how many times I've thought about the fact that you never wanted to bargain with me? How many times I've considered that you never even imaginedIcould be your fated mate? That you never even told me about it until you were throwing me out of our life and our home?"
Shock vibrated through me, rattling me to my fucking core.
I'd hurt him.
Not just when I was sad and furious and kicking him out of our house, but by keeping the truth from him for so many years.
He let out a slow breath and stood up, stepping out of the hot tub. I squeezed my eyes shut instead of watching him go.
The sound of his footsteps as he padded to the door were nearly silent, but at the same time, so loud they felt deafening.
"I've never been as happy as I was with you, Liv. Not even close." He stopped at the door for a long moment with his hand on the glass. "Don't swim alone."
Pushing the door open, he left the room.
My breathing grew shallower.
Faster, too, as panic and sadness and regret and horror crashed into me like a fucking freight train.
I managed to get myself out of the hot tub and onto the floor around it before the anxiety possessed me completely, my arms wrapping around my head as I struggled just to breathe.
I'd hurt him.
I'd fucking hurt him. Badly.
When I forced myself to think about how everything had gone down between us, I didn't feel any more anger.
There was only guilt.
That night and everything that followed might have broken me, but I might have broken him too.
How was I supposed to live with that?
By the timeI managed to peel my trembling body off the floor and make my way to the shower, the sun had risen. Ifsomeone was looking for me, I wouldn't know. I'd forgotten my phone at Merrily's house.
I couldn't imagine they were.
My current view of myself was too fucking bleak.
I made it through the shower and managed to put some clothes on, then shuffled into the kitchen to find something to eat.
When I opened the fridge and saw six Ziploc bags full of leftover pizza, I slammed the door and turned around, leaning over the countertop as I fought to work through more panic before it consumed me for a few more hours.
"Worst case scenario, he never speaks to me again," I said, sucking in slow breaths of air. "I end up fated to Jonah and never have peace or happiness or good sex again." Another deep breath. "I return the couch. And the bed. And the paintings."
The paintings I'd hidden safely in the back of the studio I'd filled with plants to stop myself from sitting on the floor in there and sobbing for hours. After I'd done exactly that every night for a month after we broke up.
No.
AfterI kicked him out.
Why didn't he hate me?
He should've hated me.
