I pet her hair as she wipes her eyes and looks up at me. “Everyone,” she says as her voice cracks and she wipes under her eyes angrily. Her mouth stays open, but nothing else comes out.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say as calmly as I can.
She pushes my arm away. “It’s not! How can you say that?” She looks up at me with a pained expression. “Everyone saw me…” Her face falls, and she can’t finish. She manages to look away from me and the anger courses through her. Her hands ball into fists as she looks up and past my desk.
“Right fucking there,” she says and points to the window. “No one will ever respect me.”
She heaves in a breath and continues, “They’re going to think I only got this job because-”
“Stop it.” I stand up, cutting her off. “What they think doesn’t matter,” I say and my voice is hard and full of venom. “This will be dealt with.”
“Dealt with?” she asks incredulously. “My job is ruined.”
“It’s-”
“I rely on presentations, I can’t hide behind a computer ignoring everyone. Everyone I ever meet will have seen them.”
She reaches for her phone, and my heart slows as I realizes she’s bringing them up. Her shoulders rise and fall heavily as the shock and sadness leave her and anger takes the forefront. She finally passes me the phone, angrily wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks.
I look down with the intention of it being a glance, but I focus on it. She looks beautiful, in complete rapture. Every inch of her on display. My grip tightens on the phone.
She’s for me and me only.
I don’t want anyone else to see that look on her face. It’s for me. Anger consumes me as I throw her phone onto the sofa and push my hands through my hair. It’s my fault.
“It’s my fault,” I can barely breathe out.
“No.” She brushes her tears away, shaking her head. “This was a mistake,” she says in a small voice and doesn’t look me in the eyes.
Mistake.
My heart slows, and my blood turns to ice.
“Whoever did this,” I start to say although I already know who. Patterson. I’ll confirm it and then he’s done. “I’ll make sure they pay.”
She rises from her seat and slowly grabs her cell phone as she heads for the door with a look of defeat and despair.
“Rose,” I call to her, but she ignores me, intent on leaving. No. I stare at her, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. No. “Rose!”
“I’m sorry, Logan,” she says in a pained voice, reaching for the door.
I slam my hand against the door above her head before she can open it. “Where are you going?” I ask her as calmly as I can, although I’m not anywhere near that emotion.
“I knew I should've never gotten involved with you,” she says in a soft voice that cripples me.
She tugs on the doorknob, but I lean my weight against the door and cage her body in. “Rose, don’t leave.”
“I have to, Logan.” She stares straight ahead and closes her eyes as I lean forward and kiss her neck.
“Don’t.” Her voice cracks and tears slip down her cheeks. “Please, just let me go.” She wipes the tears away and swallows thickly. “I need to go.”
“You don’t.”
“I do,” she says the hard words with conviction. Shaking her head, she says, “I can’t stay here. This was wrong. I knew it; I’m sorry.”
I can make this right. I can calm her down and make her understand that everything will be fine. But as I try to think of a way to ease her pain and have this blow over, I can’t think of anything. I’m paralyzed with the fear of her leaving me. My heart slams against my chest, willing me to do something, to say something.
But I have nothing. For the first time in my life, I feel true panic and it cripples me. I’m failing her, and I know it.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” she says with her eyes still closed.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” I’m quick to say the words, shaking my head, completely aware that I’m in denial. She’s not leaving me. She can’t.
“It’s over,” she says as she covers her face with her hands, finally releasing the doorknob.
Her shoulders shake and I pull her closer to me, but she pushes me away, shaking her head.
She turns to look up at me with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes as she says, “Just let me leave.”
The words resonate with me. I’ve heard them before. My mother told my father that I don’t know how many times. I do what my father never did, and back away from her. I stare at the wall of frames and try to ignore the sound of the door opening and then closing. Leaving me alone as I struggle to breathe.
This was going to happen. It’s the way these things work. I try to convince myself I’m telling the truth, but it doesn’t stop the pain. I brace myself against the wall, in complete shock and disbelief. It hurts. The crippling pain brings me to my knees. I lean my back against the door, not wanting this to be real.
I finally had something I never thought I would. And I let her slip through my fingers. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.