“Because I’ve already been left once,” he snapped. “I’m not letting you do that to me, over and over.”
Whoa. It took a moment before the pieces came together in my mind. His father had left him and his mother. Until this moment, I hadn’t made the connection. All this time, Niklas had stayed away from the subject of his father, giving me only the barest details, but his father had been at the center of our discussions all along. This was his fear—to be left again. I was about to hurt him in exactly this way. And he didn’t let me know until now.
“Your father?” I whispered. “This is about your father?”
“Maybe. I guess so,” he said, quieter now. “Does it matter? I asked you to stay, and you’re not going to.”
Even at this point, he still didn’t want to discuss it.
I lowered my voice and forced myself to continue. “Niklas, I can’t blame you for leaving for Sweden, but I’m not going to pretend this isn’t breaking my heart.”
Niklas let out a shaky breath. “So you go off and do what you need to do, and I move on?”
No, don’t move on. The words rattled inside of me, begging to be spoken, but I couldn’t even ask that of him.
“If that’s what you need to do,” I whispered, refusing to look at him.
*
Silence hung over the rest of dinner and the car ride home, a dark, heavy blanket that shut out any other thoughts. As we walked inside the house, it occurred to me that Niklas and I were going to bed when we were angry. What did we do now, as we headed down the steps? Would he look away when I undressed? Would he turn away from me when I crawled into bed?
Niklas entered the bedroom without turning on the lights, and I followed, my eyes on the floor. I sat down on the side of the bed, facing the lake. He opened the French doors, letting the warm breeze into the room. The moonlight glowed around his silhouette as he turned around. He knelt down in front of me and rested his hands on my thighs. We were the same height in this position, and his deep blue eyes were wide and dark as he gazed at me. Most of the anger had left his face, but not all of it.
He said nothing. He lifted his hands to cup my jaw and gently stroked my skin with his thumbs. I held his gaze as long as I could until the tears blurred my sight. But I fought against them.
“How I feel about you isn’t going to change,” he whispered. “But staying here and watching you plan your life without me isn’t working.”
I nodded. I understood that now. But backing out of the New Hampshire job at this point, after I had already signed the contract, was career suicide. How many times would I have to choose between a relationship and a career?
“I love you, Niklas,” I said, my voice cracking. “I didn’t know the traveling hurt you this way. Please don’t make this about how much I care.”
He nodded and pulled me in tight. I never wanted him to let go.
