On the face of it, his reaction made no sense because she’d given him what he wanted—her love, her commitment. But it was getting what he wanted that made him so afraid.
Because deep inside, he was the fourteen-year-old boy who believed he should’ve died so his twelve-year-old brother—the best friend he’d ever had—could live. He was the kid sick with survivors’ guilt who desperately wanted his father to acknowledge him instead of choosing to abandon him. He was a man who’d been taught that life didn’t give you what you wanted, or if it did, it took it away again.
The past. Anxiety. Fucked-up fears. Caden knew it, but he couldn’t fight it. His heart wasn’t whole. His feet weren’t steady. His brain wasn’t right.
He wasn’t right. And in that state, he didn’t trust himself with loving her.
He grasped her hands and pulled them away from his chest. “Makenna, I—” But no further words came out, because it was like his brain had frozen. He knew what he felt, but he didn’t know what to say. How to put it into words, or whether he even should. He was fucking paralyzed.
“You don’t have to say it back,” she said, something sad and maybe even a little disappointed flashing through her eyes. “I didn’t say it with an expectation that you would say it back.”
So she’d expected him to fail her. And that’s what he was doing. Like he needed more proof that she deserved better.
He gasped a breath, all the stress of the past week crashing down on him like a ton of bricks. Or maybe it was more like a house of cards, because in this moment Caden felt like a fucking fool to have ever believed that he was capable of being one of two when his half of that equation was so damn damaged.
“Makenna, it’s just, this is all…” Shaking his head, he stepped back, out of her grasp. His skin was suddenly too sensitive to allow her touch. Hell, the clothes on his back felt too rough, too heavy, too confining. “It’s just a lot. It’s just fast,” he said, not even sure of the words coming out of his mouth.
A look of hurt flashed across her pretty face, and even though she tried to hide it, tried to recover, he knew what he’d seen. “It doesn’t have to mean anything—”
“Yes, it does,” he bit out, hating that his emotional bullshit was making her discount her feelings. To try to make him feel better. “It means fucking everything.” He grasped at his chest, the lack of oxygen setting off a burn right in the center. His head throbbed out a punishing downbeat.
“Caden—”
“I’m sorry,” he said, wincing as he tried to suck in a deep breath. “I can’t…I gotta…go. I just need some space. Okay? Some time?” His fight or flight instinct was kicking him in the ass. Hard. “I…just need some space. I’m sorry.”
Then he was out the door, his whole world imploding around him. Because he’d probably just destroyed the best thing he’d ever had. But maybe that was as it should be, since he clearly couldn’t handle it anyway.
And Makenna deserved someone who could.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Makenna stared at her apartment door? the sound of it closing still echoing loudly all around her. What the hell just happened?
She clutched her stomach, just that moment realizing she’d never even gotten to the point of telling Caden about the baby. And, Christ, how was she supposed to do that now? When hearing that she loved him sent him into a full-out panic attack. Never in all the time she’d known him had she ever seen his face go so pale and distant and just…blank out like that. Like she was looking at a shell of the man she knew.
Given how marked by abandonment he was, she’d always worried that hearing her say she loved him might trigger his anxiety. But she never thought it would be this bad.
On instinct, she dashed for the door and wrenched it open, but the hall was empty. She sagged against the door jamb and stared at the emptiness.
Every urge within her told her to run after him. But he’d asked for time and space. Would going after him make things worse? Would it push him away? Was it worth the risk?
The thing was, Makenna understood a lot about how Caden reacted to things. And, after doing some reading on the subject, she understood a lot about how his anxiety and PTSD worked—that didn’t mean she always knew how to handle it, and she certainly had no imaginings that she could fix it, but she understood that he faced these struggles. Hell, his need for a distraction from his claustrophobia and anxiety was what had led them to get to know each other in the first place.
And she didn’t love him despite of all of his issues, she loved him because of them. Or, rather, because they were part of who he was. And she loved who he was. With everything she had.
Which meant she should probably give him the space he needed. Even if it left her heart an aching, bruised mess.