He took a deep breath and stepped toward her one more time. “But you don’t trust my judgment when it comes to you?” he asked softly. He reached out a hand, and her fingers flexed at her side. Sol’s breath caught in his throat as he waited.
But she did not come. Instead, she backed away.
“In time, you’ll see that this is best,” she said in an irritatingly calm voice. “Trust me.”
“You tell me that, but you refuse to trustme.” Suddenly, he was tired. Very, very tired.
Why was he so insistent on chasing after a woman,one who everyone else for whom he cared told him would make his life difficult, if all she did was shove him away?
Yes, her behavior contradicted her words, but didn’t he deserve the words too? And yes, he understood she was scared—she’d told him as much in the story regarding her parents’ deaths. But she wasn’t the only one in the world who had suffered losses. He’d opened his heart to her time and time again, and while he might not be perfect, he didn’t deserve—he swallowed.
Perhaps he did. She’d told him multiple times that she didn’t want what he was offering. He should’ve taken her at her words. Oy, he should’ve listened to his brother. Frederick had tried so hard, but clearly, he was just not cut out for making decisions on his own.
“Fine,” he said, unable to keep the frustration and hurt out of his voice. “You want to play this game? Push me away? Well, that’s just fine. Because you’re finally going to get your wish. If you leave now, like this, don’t bother coming back. I don’t want you to come back. I don’t want to see you again. I’m done.”
And he was. Truly. This—the pain—wasn’t worth it. Bile rose in his throat as if rejecting the unspoken lie.
“Good,” she whispered, turning her head from him, the catch in her voice unmistakable. And the sound near felled him. She rushed toward the window.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to call out. Because he was a shmuck and he couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t beat the last bit of hope out of his heart, no matter how foolish and illogical.
She paused, hands on the sill, her face turned away from him. “Sorry for what?” she asked, her voice shaking.
For not being able to fix her life, let alone his own.
For not being able to give her the words, the ones that she needed.
“For not being enough for you to get over your fear,” he said finally. “For not being enough to convince you that risking your heart is worth the possibility of more.”
Her shoulders slumped. “You have no idea what you’re worth.”
“Then tell me.” He slapped his hand down on the bedpost in frustration. His eyes stung. “Stop lying, stop running, and stay. Fight. With me,” he pleaded.
“I can’t,” she told him, her hands clenching the sill. “I’m sorry.”
And before he could do anything else, she’d gone. Leaving him alone with nothing but pain and regret at how he’d managed to lose so spectacularly.
