“Yes, I fucking can!” I yelled, furious with myself for letting my guard down and with her for penetrating my defenses. “This is me, Margot. This is who I am. And it’s why we never should have gotten involved in the first place.”
Her body seemed to wilt. If I could have seen her eyes, I knew they’d be shiny with tears. “This isn’t you. I know you.”
I put up another wall. “You think because we fucked a few times that you know me? You don’t. It was just sex.”
She shook her head again, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it’s time, OK?” My hands were shaking. “We both knew this thing couldn’t go on, so we might as well end it now.”
“Why couldn’t it go on? I don’t live that far away, and…” She took a breath. I had the feeling I wouldn’t want to hear what she said next, and I was right. “I feel something for you, Jack. I don’t want it to end.”
I had to be ruthless. Rip off the bandage. “Well, I do.”
She started to cry. “Don’t you feel anything for me? Have the past few days meant nothing to you?”
I shrugged, and she cradled her stomach as if I’d struck her. She believed the lies so readily. Fucking hell, this was torture.
“God,” she wept, rushing past me down the steps. “I was so wrong about you.”
Cursing myself, I followed her through the trees, past the spot where we’d first combusted, and into Pete and Georgia’s yard. I saw her glance at the spot where I’d kissed her so passionately just a couple hours ago, and wanted to put my fist through a wall. Godammit, you weren’t wrong about me. But I can’t handle my feelings for you. I have no place to put them, they don’t fit inside me, don’t fit inside the life I have to live. I have no choice, Margot! Can’t you see?
She didn’t even try to walk home—she knew me too well, another punch in the gut—but marched right to the driveway and got into my truck, slamming the door so hard I thought it might fall off.
Moving slowly, as if the air around me was mud, I got behind the wheel and started the engine. She sat as far away from me as she could, arms crossed, legs together, jaw set. How insane that an hour ago, I’d been inside her, and she’d welcomed me in. I’d never feel that again.
My walls started to crumble.
“Margot, look. I—”
“Don’t. Don’t say my name, don’t talk to me, don’t even fucking look at me.”
Exhaling, I put the tuck in reverse and backed out of the driveway. I should have been relieved that she wasn’t crying anymore, that she wasn’t going to make this any harder for me, that she was going to go back to her pretty world and forget I ever existed.
It was exactly what I wanted, wasn’t it?
Twenty-Nine
Margot
The ride back to the cottage was agony. I couldn’t believe the way he’d turned on me. My head was spinning!
It was just sex.
It was?
But he’d waited three years. He’d come after me. He’d asked me to stay. He’d confided in me. He’d shared deeply personal feelings. It wasn’t just sex! So what the hell was this sudden withdrawal? I racked my brain, trying to piece it together.
Had he just pretended to be a good guy? Was this asshole next to me the real Jack Valentini? Had the entire week been one big charade just to get in my pants? I found that hard to believe, but I was reeling. A couple hours ago, we’d been laughing and kissing and talking.
What had gone wrong? Were all men just manipulative bastards? I couldn’t accept that Jack was like Tripp.
Maybe having sex in the cabin had been too overwhelming. Maybe it felt like cheating for him. Maybe he felt guilty for enjoying it so much. Despite what he’d said, there had been something different about it tonight. Something intense and real and big. Something good. I’d felt it, and he must have, too.
I stole a glance at him and caught the usual stubborn body language and expression out of the corner of my eye. But there was something else…his right hand was nervously tapping on his thigh. I’d never seen that before. Something had him wound up. Something was making him nervous—scared, even.
That’s it.
It hit me all at once. His biggest fear—letting go of his past.
Maybe he started to let go. And it terrified him.
A little sadness tempered my anger. Why did he torture himself this way? Why wouldn’t he forgive himself and move on? Why wouldn’t he let me help? Why was he so fucking loyal to his pain? And after everything he’d told me, did he think I couldn’t see what he was doing?
I wanted to shake him. Hug him. Scream at him. Plead with him. Hurl accusations at him until he admitted the truth—he felt something for me.
But what good would it do? He’d never admit it. In fact, pushing him like that would only make him retreat further. It was hopeless. Until he made a conscious decision to move on, there was nothing I could do. And if the last few days hadn’t been enough to convince him, I had to face the fact that maybe it wasn’t going to happen. Blinking away fresh tears as he pulled up at the cottage, I had my hand on the door handle before the truck even stopped moving.
“Margot.”