“It does,” he insists. His voice is firm now, almost desperate. “Those girls—” He stops, runs a hand through his hair, and I can see the frustration building. “Christ, Violet. You really don’t know, do you?”
I shake my head, unable to speak around the knot in my throat.
He leans forward, and his eyes lock on mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “I chased them because I couldn’t chase you.”
“What?”
“Every single one of them,” he continues, his voice rough and raw. “Every girl I flirted with, every stupid hookup—it was because I was trying to convince myself I didn’t want you. That I could want someone else.Anyoneelse.”
My hands are shaking and my heart is hammering, each beat a reminder of every lonely glance I stole, every moment I let myself hope while he was using everyone else to shield himself from me.
I want to reach across the space between us, grab his face, shake him, scream at him for every stupid, selfish choice. But I also want to curl up and cry, let the relief of finally knowing the truth settle over me, even though it burns like acid on my tongue.
“I was a mess,” he continues quietly. “Everything around me was fucked up, and I figured if I didn’t push you away, I’d drag you down with me. And then I thought leaving was the one thing I could do right.”
I laugh. It’s bitter and cracked and doesn’t sound like me. “So you vanished. Just like that. No goodbye, no explanation. Youreally think disappearing hurt less than staying would have? You think I wanted to spend years wondering what I did wrong? Thinking I wasn’t enough for you to stay?”
He flinches like I’ve struck bone. That part of him that never let anyone see him vulnerable, the part I know he buried deeper than the rest, twitches in his cheek before he glances away.
“You weren’t supposed to miss me.”
I laugh again, broken this time. “I wasn’t supposed to miss you?” I repeat, my voice cracking. “You were my best friend. How could I not miss you?”
My vision goes hot and blurry, and I can’t look at him anymore, because if I do, I’ll shatter.
But then he moves. His hand finds mine—rough, calloused fingers curling around my palm with a gentleness that breaks me more than anything else could.
“Violet. Look at me.”
I don’t want to. I’m afraid of what I’ll see, but I’ve never been able to deny him of anything, even when I should, so I lift my gaze to his, and what I find there knocks the air from my lungs.
Raw pain. Longing. Regret. His blue eyes are like an open wound, and I realize with shock that Rowan looks as haunted as I am.
“I thought about you every fucking day,” he says, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “I thought about coming back a thousand times, but I hoped you’d found someone good. Someone better.”
My breath hitches.
“I kept expecting to hear you got married,” he continues. “To some guy who could give you everything you ever wanted.”
“You never gave me the chance to decide what I wanted.”
All the pain, all the waiting, all the years of wondering—it ignites into a sudden, white-hot anger that burns through my veins.
“You had no right,” I say, pulling my hand away from his. My voice is surprisingly steady despite the storm raging insideme. “You decided for both of us. You decided what I deserved, what I needed, without even asking me.”
His face falls, but I can’t stop now.
“Do you know what it’s like to wait for someone who never comes back?” I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping. “And now you’re sitting here telling me you wanted me all along? That’s not fair, Rowan. We could have hadyears.”
“Violet—”
“No,” I cut him off. “We wasted so much time, and for what?” I’m not shouting, but my words are sharp enough to make him flinch. “I wanted you. You wanted me. Now we’re strangers sitting in a diner pretending we know each other.”
He doesn’t argue. Just sits there taking the verbal beating, which somehow makes me angrier.
“Say something,” I demand. “Fight back. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong,” he says quietly.
