“Not really,” I mumble weakly, not inclined to argue with him anymore.
“Yeah, well, you’re getting it. I think you’re scared,” he says, stepping close to me. His hands cup my cheeks and he tilts my head, forcing me to look at him. “I think you’re so damn scared of allowing me even an inch of leeway because you don’t want to feel guilty. Since you came into my life, all you’ve done is make it a point to let me know how great Jake was. How he was your only love. How he touched you. How he would have been a great dad. How he didn’t deserve what he got. How you miss him. And I couldn’t agree more, but making me feel an inch tall doesn’t bring him back and ignoring what we have here doesn’t make it disappear. It won’t take this heart from me and put it back in his chest. It won’t change what I know you feel here.”
“I don’t feel anything here except frustration. You don’t know what this feels like,” I jerk away and snap at him, knowing that he’s right and I’m nothing more than a spineless coward too afraid to let him in for fear that my life with Jake will fade out completely and I would have something worth being happy about. Something worth losing. Something that could crush me if I did ever lose it. I can’t lose somebody again.
“Look at me and tell me that you don’t feel a damn thing going on between us. Go ahead. And I don’t mean just the physical stuff, Sadie. I mean what’s in here.” His hand motions back and forth between us, then points at his own chest while his sapphire eyes take aim and seem to peer right into me, forcing me to swallow hard.
“Stop it,” I growl through gritted teeth, shaking my head. “Shut your arrogant mouth!” Tears pool, making my vision blurry.
“No,” he replies simply. “I know you won’t say it because you can’t. You want the truth? You’re right. I don’t deserve a second chance at life. He deserved to live a long life right beside you, to have kids, all of it. I’m the last motherfucker in the world who deserves another chance at life. I’m not a good man, Sadie. I lived fast and burned bridges faster. I’ve left a path of women in my wake a mile wide. I partied hard and fucked harder. There. That’s the person that your husband’s heart saved. So go ahead and hate me. You certainly can’t ever hate me more than I hate myself. Black sheep, remember?” he says, pointing to himself with a self-depreciating smirk.
It wounds me. I don’t like him thinking that way about himself. I want so badly to make him think of himself the way I think of him. I wish he could view himself the way that I do. Then he’d see how much he has to give.
My lips part, but words won’t come out. I’m shaking. My palms are sweaty. I’m not sure what to say. I’m taken aback not by what he’s just said, but by what it made me feel. For a moment, anger edged back and sadness for him flooded my mind. I don’t feel angry right now. I don’t feel anything really except shock and sadness over what he’s just said. My head is spinning.
Zander’s chest heaves up and down rapidly. “If you think for one second that I wanted this, you’re wrong,” he grumbles, shrugging out of his jacket. I watch in silence as my sweet black sheep tosses it to the chair where my clutch is then turns back to face me again. He’s frustrated and hurt too and despite my inability to attend to my own frustration and sadness, I want to help Zander. I just don’t know how. I feel captive. I feel pushed. I feel squeezed. I feel cornered.
I take a cautious step back but he instantly steps forward, closing the space between us. I can feel the heat and frustration radiating from him. His breathing is uneven and he seems to be trembling just as much as I am.
Before I have a chance to even think, he grips his shirt at the front and rips it open, sending buttons skipping across his floor in all directions. My eyes instinctively look towards the floor to watch where buttons have flown. When I look up, I find myself staring at the same man who ripped his shirt open like a caveman, except he’s not frustrated. The look on his face is one that I’ve not seen yet.
Anguish. Pure anguish.
Tears glisten in his dark blue eyes. He steps even closer to me, leaving only an inch or two of space for me to call mine. His eyes bore into me as he shrugs his shoulders up and down a few times, easily slipping out of the fabric. I watch it drop to the floor and do my best to compose myself.
“Look at it,” he demands softly.
I know exactly what he’s talking about. I haven’t seen his scar yet and I’m not quite sure that I’m ready to see the marred chest that was split open to welcome in a new heart. New to him, anyway. It damn sure wasn’t new to me. I’ve known that heart since childhood.
I loved that heart.
That’s the heart that loved me right back.
“Look at it, Sadie,” he repeats, demanding.