“Lizzie,” he whispered against her ear, and then, as if he was at a loss for words, he kissed her shoulder.
Her heart tugged at the emotions winding around them.
He soaped the washcloth and gently bathed her arms. With one arm around her waist, he washed her shoulders, her breastbone, then passed the washcloth to his other hand to wash her breasts, her rib cage. He tended to her carefully, whispering about how much he loved her and how sorry he was. He trailed kisses along her shoulder, and when he stopped washing her and wrapped both arms around her waist, resting his head against her cheek, she heard him breathing deeply, as if he were so thankful for this time together.
She had the feeling neither of them knew where to go from here, and she didn’t want to break the spell of this closeness. She needed this, needed him. God, how long had she needed him? A year was a long time to fight her feelings, and she knew, as he turned her in his arms and gathered her in close, her knees pressed to her chest as he wrapped his arms around her, that she’d been doing just that. She had no fight left in her. It was exhausting to defend herself and exhausting trying not to feel and not to love. Almost as exhausting as living a lie.
“I’m so sorry, Lizzie. I know we don’t want to talk about it, but I hate what I said to you. I can’t claim that I’ve come to grips with what you do, but I will never again say anything hurtful. I want so badly to be part of your life. I just need to figure out how to get past all of this.”
She wanted to beg him to try, but she’d done enough of that already. He was being as honest as a person could be. Hadn’t he always been honest with her even before they’d started dating? Blue hid nothing from her. He gave, and gave, and gave some more.
“It’s okay,” she finally managed, feeling anything but okay. She didn’t know how to do this either. She’d never felt so much for anyone, and if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she didn’t want those feelings to go away.
He kissed her temple and tightened his hold. “No, it’s not okay. My heart aches, Lizzie. I want to be a man who can step back and let everything roll off my back, but that’s just not who I am. But I’m willing to try. God, Lizzie. I love you so much. For you I’d do anything.”
“I don’t want you to be that man, Blue. I want you to be who you are, not someone who ignores his true feelings.” She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him. “We’re at a crossroads, and I’m not sure which way to go.”
He held her until the water chilled and the bubbles dissipated; then he wrapped her in a towel and carefully dried her off before tending to himself. They dressed in silence, and then Blue reached for her again like it was the most natural thing in the world, despite the sadness that welled in his eyes. Lizzie didn’t want him to leave, and she knew what she was about to ask might be met with anger, but she had to try. He was obviously trying. He was trying so damn hard.
Within the safety of his arms, she said, “I have to tape my show tonight.”
She felt him hold his breath.
“Stay with me?” she asked, knowing he probably wouldn’t.
He drew back and gazed into her eyes with confusion and discomfort, and, miraculously, with undeniable love. “I don’t think I can. I’m not there yet.”
She nodded, feeling the sting of rejection all the way to her toes.
Chapter Twenty
LIZZIE LEFT BLUE in the kitchen packing up his things and went down to the basement to tape her show. She stood at the bottom of the steps, eyes closed, arms wrapped around her middle, and contemplated running back upstairs—Stay with me. I’ll stop making the videos. Just love me, Blue. Love me and let me love you.
She opened her eyes and turned, catching a glimpse of Madison’s picture hanging on the wall. Her eyes shifted back to the stairs. Two years, Blue. It’s only two more years. A night was too hard for him. Two years would be impossible. She had to let him go. She was used to putting herself and her feelings last. This was just another thing she needed to do. She pulled her shoulders back despite the tears slipping down her cheeks and headed for the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a pair of heels and her trusty apron, blond wig in place, thick frames perched on her nose, she stood in front of the computer and tried to fake a smile—and failed. With a groan, she tried again, pacing, trying to work off the nervous energy that was turning every nerve to ice. She didn’t feel sexy or seductive. She felt like she’d hurt the only man on earth who mattered. Forcing herself to look at Maddy’s picture again, she cleared her throat, pulled her shoulders back for the millionth time, and told herself that she could do anything for forty-five minutes or an hour.
One minute at a time.
She turned on the camera and did her best to turn the heat up in her voice.