My voice shook. “You were having a nightmare. You scared the hell out of me.”
“Eva.” He looked down at his erection and his color darkened with shame.
I stared at him from my safe place by the window, tying the sash of my robe with a yank. “What were you dreaming about?”
He shook his head, his gaze lowered with humiliation, a vulnerable posture I didn’t know or recognize in him. It was as if someone else had taken over Gideon’s body. “I don’t know.”
“Bullshit. Something’s in you, something’s eating at you. What is it?”
He rallied visibly as his brain struggled free of sleep. “It was just a dream, Eva. People have them.”
I stared at him, hurt blooming that he would take that tone with me, as if I was being irrational. “Screw you.”
His shoulders squared, and he tugged the sheet over his lap. “Why are you mad?”
“Because you’re lying.”
His chest expanded on a deep breath; then he released it in a rush. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache gathering strength. My eyes stung with the need to cry for him, to cry for whatever torment he’d once lived through. And to cry for us, because if he didn’t let me in, our relationship had nowhere to go.
“One more time, Gideon: what were you dreaming about?”
“I don’t remember.” He ran a hand through his hair and slid his legs off the edge of the bed. “I have some business on my mind and it’s probably keeping me up. I’m going to work in my home office for a while. Come back to bed, and try to get some sleep.”
“There were a few right answers to that question, Gideon. ‘Let’s talk about it tomorrow’ would’ve been one. ‘Let’s talk about it over the weekend’ would’ve been another. And even ‘I’m not ready to talk about it’ would be okay. But you have some nerve acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about while speaking to me like I’m unreasonable.”
“Angel—”
“Don’t.” My arms wrapped around my waist. “Do you think it was easy telling you about my past? Do you think it was painless cutting myself open and letting the ugliness spill out? It would’ve been simpler to cut you off and date someone less prominent. I took the risk because I want to be with you. Maybe someday you’ll feel the same way about me.”
I left the room.
“Eva! Eva, damn it, come back here. What’s wrong with you?”
I walked faster. I knew how he felt: the sickness in the gut that spread like cancer, the helpless anger, and the need to curl up in private and find the strength to shove the memories back into the deep dark hole they still lived in.
It wasn’t an excuse for lying or deflecting the blame onto me.
I snatched my purse off the chair where I’d dropped it on the way in from dinner and I rushed out the front door into the foyer to the elevator. The car doors were closing with me inside when I saw him step into the living room through the open front door. His nakedness ensured he couldn’t come after me, while the look in his eyes ensured I wouldn’t stay. He’d donned his mask again, that striking implacable face that kept the world a safe distance away.
Shaking, I leaned heavily against the brass handrail for support. I was torn between my concern for him, which urged me to stay, and my hard-won knowledge, which assured me that his coping strategy wasn’t one I could live with. The road to recovery for me was paved with hard truths, not denials and lies.
Swiping at my wet cheeks when I passed the third floor, I took deep breaths and collected myself before the doors opened on the lobby level.