Maybe he heard the anger threading through my tone or saw the doubt written across my face, because Eric pulled away—actually pulled away—swinging his legs over the bed’s edge and turning his back to me.
The gesture felt like a slap. Cold, impersonal, and dismissive.
And it hurt like hell.
“Was it easy to keep it all to yourself?” The accusation spilled out before I could stop it. “Easier not to share details? Easy to put it out of your mind when you had me as distraction?”
“Christ, Jamie.” He whipped around, fury blazing in his eyes. “This isn’t about you. Don’t you get that? This is about me. It was easier not to think about it because considering all the fucked-up, horrible ways things can go wrong, it’s too fucking much to deal with.”
His breath turned ragged, eyes wild. “I don’t want to think about my little brother dying. And I sure as hell don’t want to think about my donated cells being what might kill him.”
My anger deflated like a punctured balloon, all that righteous indignation leaking out in one pathetic whoosh.
Once again, my emotional response had hijacked everything. I’d turned his heartfelt confession into something ugly. His omission hurt, but I’d been thoughtless.
“I’m sorry. That was selfish. I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Fuck, Jamie, I get it. I wasn’t honest and it hurt you. I meant to tell you. It just never felt like the right time.”
“It’s okay. I understand why you didn’t.”
“No, you don’t.” His sigh left me breathless, like the room had no air. “All that shit about avoiding my thoughts—it’s not the whole truth.”
The burn in my chest intensified. “What’s the whole truth?”
I gasped for air as I waited. The room felt smaller suddenly, walls pressing in. The silence stretched until I thought I might break from the tension.
“People have a way of romanticizing this kind of thing. They turn it into something it’s not. Like an act of bravery.” He cringed, his bold blue eyes watering. “I didn’t want you to look at me that way. I’m not just the guy who’s saving his brother’s life. I didn’t want you to fall for me because you thought I was some kind of hero. I wanted you to see me. Just me.”
His gaze held mine, imploring.
“I did see you. I do. And I would have, no matter what. You promised me no more pretending. I trusted that. I told you everything. All my secrets. I trusted you.”
“And now?”
Now? Now I felt like an idiot for believing in fairy tales and soul connections. Now I felt like that naïve girl who’d gotten pregnant at seventeen, thinking love could conquer everything.
“I still want to trust you, Eric. But I feel like you didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t give me your trust. That hurts, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Jamie, everything I said at the hospital—I meant it.” His hand landed on my knee, his touch gentle but possessive. “I want you. I want us. More than just right now. Nothing’s changed.”
“But everything’s changed. My whole world’s upside down and I’m waiting for it to stop spinning. You say you know what you want, but how can you know, when nothing in our lives is normal? We’ve both been through so much shit—you’re still going through it. How can you trust what you’re feeling? How can I trust it too?”
“You want normal?” His voice turned hard, hand tightening on my knee. “I’ve had normal. Normal fucking sucked. That wasn’t living.”
His intensity didn’t waver. “Things may be chaotic now. It may all feel messed up, but if I never experienced the bad shit, I’d have never gotten the opportunity to experience all the good I’ve had with you.”
His voice broke with sincerity. “This is life, beautiful girl. Truly living and feeling. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it hurts a fuck of a lot. But that’s only made me appreciate it more when it doesn’t.”
God, this man. He was poetic, romantic, and perfect in every way imaginable.
Even though he’d hidden this, I wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe he had some mystical way of knowing everything would be all right. I wanted confidence in myself to get this right. Faith in the future.
But faith couldn’t be manufactured or willed into existence. I had to find it organically, authentically.
And I needed to do that on my own.
My aching chest squeezed tighter as I made excuses to end our conversation, leaving it unresolved. Too tired to think, too worried about Caleb, too upset over my father to make decisions.
