“Look me in the eye and say the words.‘I don’t love you, Luke.’Say it, Andi,” I demand. She cries harder and her tears are soaking my hand from where they’re dripping off her beautiful face. “Say the words to my face, Andi.”
I barely make out the words of herwhispered response, “I can’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ANDI
This is the hardest and the worst thing I’ve had to do since the night that landed me in the psychiatric hospital. But I know what danger lurks out there, waiting to pounce on me, and I can’t put Luke and his family in the crosshairs. If anything happened to them because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Pushing him away is the only way I know I can even try to protect them from what’s inevitably coming.
Luke’s calling bullshit on me saying I don’t love him anymore. Actually, I didn’t even say those words, I just said ‘no’ when he asked me if I did. He knew that was a lie – that’s why he’s trying to make me say the words to his face. I can’t do it – no matter what’s happened, I can’t do that. If this whole mess goes as badly as I’m afraid it will, I can’t die with those being my last words to him.
I let go of his hands and stand up. I don’t know what the deal is but when I cry, I can’t breathe through my nose if I’m sitting down. I have to stand to get my sinuses cleared enough to breathe. When I stand, he stands and I almost chuckle. I had a feeling he was kidnapping me when he led me to his truck. But he’s right, I know he would never physically hurt me.
I start pacing and he moves into position to block the door and prevent me from making a run for it. That wasn’t my plan but I’ll let him keep his illusion of control over the room. I have bigger fish to fry right now. Like convincing a very large man that he needs my protection when he’s the one who gets in the boxing ring with other large men and beats the crap out of them. This should go well.
I stop pacing and look at him, giving him a clear indication that I’m telling him the truth. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
“And that’s different from just now….how?” He asks dryly, with a hint of the sarcastic humor he knows I love.
And I chuckle, a little. “Luke, I can’t tell you that I don’t love you. You already know that.”
He smiles knowingly, “Then tell me you do. I will accept that, too.”
“I do love you. I never stopped loving you,” I finally admit – to him and to myself, “but we can’t get back together, Luke.” I’m on the verge of a real nervous breakdown here but I need to make him understand.
“And why is that, Andi?” he asks as he takes on his menacing fighting stance, fully blocking the door and looking very intimidating. This will make it harder to argue my case.
“Promise not to laugh?” I ask and can’t keep the blush from creeping up my face.
He looks slightly amused already at my request, “This should be interesting. I promise I will do my best to not laugh. But I won’t break another promise by saying I won’t laugh when I don’t have a clue what you’re about to say.”
Fair enough.
“I have to protect you.”
His lips twitch and he sucks his cheeks in like he’s making a fish face for a second before looking down at his feet. He’s working hard to keep from laughing and to keep his promise to try not to laugh.
“Go ahead,” I concede, and he releases a hearty laugh that rumbles through his expansive chest. And that laugh sounds so good, so right, and it makes me miss our time together so much more.
“I’m sorry, baby, really,” as he tries to regain his composure. He wipes his hand over his mouth as if it will wipe the huge, shit-eating grin off his face. “Care to explain that revelation?”
I’m suddenly serious and he takes the cue. “Luke, this is really hard to talk about, ok? I know it sounds funny and I know I’ll have a hard time convincing you that I have to protect you, but-“
“First of all, I’m sorry for laughing. It’s obviously not funny to you – it was just the way it sounded at first.”
“I know – I don’t blame you for that,” I quickly explain.
“As much as you obviously want to protect me, I want to protect you, Andi. I don’t understand why I need protecting, though.”
To tell or not to tell, that is the question.
“Can you sit down and let me explain? I promise I won’t make a run for the door,” I add with a smile. He doesn’t even pretend to not know what I’m referring to as he takes a seat. The one closest to the door.
Let’s start with the shocking truth and see if he runs for the door. If not, I’ll know I can finish the story. “The night I was put in the psychiatric hospital, I did attack my foster father with a knife and I would’ve killed him if I could have. But not for the reasons they say I did it.”
He’s shocked at first, but I don’t blame him for that. He probably thought it was some kind of accident that went terribly wrong. “OK, baby, go on.” There’s no judgment in his voice. No disbelief. No suspicion.
“It was just before my 15thbirthday and I was the oldest of the foster kids. There were several – all girls,” and his face hardens as if he is guessing what comes next. “There were 5 of us in all and the others were all between 6 and 10 years old. Our foster mother wanted nothing to do with us and I was responsible for babysitting, helping with homework, baths – all that kind of stuff.
