“I will never forgive myself for leaving you, Shelby. EVER. I’ll never forgive myself for the part I played in what happened to you,” I tell her, leaning closer and softening my voice even though I want to scream right back at her and make her fucking hear what I’m saying and believe it.
“I lied to you in that note, I made a mistake, and I spent six fucking years wishing I could go back and do it differently. Wishing I could touch you and hold you and tell you I love you, take back every stupid decision I made that took me away from you, but I can’t do that. Don’t stand here and tell me I didn’t fight for you, when we both know I fucking did. It might have taken me a few weeks, but I fought for you, dammit! I wrote you, every day for three months when I got to Afghanistan and woke the fuck up. Every goddamn day I wrote to you and I apologized and I begged for you to forgive me and you didn’t. I take full responsibility for the shitty way I left things and how much I hurt you, but don’t you dare stand here and lie to my face, telling me I didn’t fight,” I argue. “I wrote to you, every day, and I fought for you, every fucking day, for MONTHS!”
She moves quickly, bending down and sliding out from under my arms, shaking her head at me as she goes.
“I don’t believe this,” she mutters. “Are you seriously Notebook-ing me right now? You are UNBELIEVABLE!”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head, having no idea what the fuck she’s talking about.
“You have a lot of nerve. And you’re calling ME a liar? You didn’t write me any letters. You’re just saying that because you came back here and can’t get what you want, saying whatever you can to make me give in.”
“Look, I don’t know what notebook you’re talking about and I don’t give a shit. I’m telling you I tried to fight for you and you didn’t respond. But it doesn’t fucking matter. I didn’t give up then and I’m not about to give up now. I don’t care about the letters, I don’t care if you threw them away or burned them or you want to pretend like you never got them. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, so get that through your head!”
She turns away from me, stalks across the room, and I let her go, knowing she’s done listening to me and realizing I need to stop while I’m sort of ahead before this escalates even more and I completely lose my footing. I have no problem letting her leave right now and be pissed at me. Having her pissed and angry is much better than having her indifferent and pretending like she doesn’t care. If she didn’t care, everything I’m feeling would be a waste of time and energy. Every regret and every broken piece of my heart wouldn’t mean a damn thing.
“Go away! Take your lies and your fucking Ryan Gosling references and shove them up your ass!” she finishes, rounding the doorway and moving out of sight.
I chuckle to myself when I hear the door slam shut at the end of the hallway outside the studio. I have no idea who Ryan Gosling is and what he has to do with what just happened here, but I don’t care. She just proved to me that she hasn’t moved on, no matter how hard she tried to convince me otherwise, and there’s no way I’m giving up now. At least my therapist will be happy I’ve found a hobby.
Chapter 14
Shelby
I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
Slamming a folder full of e-mails down on the desk in my small office in the guest house, I look up at Landry and glare at him.
“You’re damn right you should have told me!” I fire back, watching Landry’s eyes widen in shock.
I never curse in front of him. I’ve never even raised my voice in his presence, and going by the look on his face, he has no idea what is going on.
“It’s bad enough ninety percent of my communication with my mother is done via her assistants through e-mail. You knew what she was planning to do for a week and you didn’t say one word to me. I thought we were friends, Landry.”
The shock on his face is immediately replaced with hurt and I know I should feel bad and want to take the words back, but I don’t and I can’t.
“Friends? Really, Shelby? I’m pretty sure we’re more than friends,” he tells me, moving farther into the room to stand directly on the other side of the desk.
He rests his hands on top of the polished wood and leans forward, his voice getting softer.
“What is going on with you lately? You’re acting differently, you’re dressing differently, you’re speaking to me in a way I’ve never heard before, and you flinch every time I come near you.”
I reach down deep inside me to find the part of myself that should feel upset and guilty, but all I find is anger and the only part of his speech I zone in on is about how I’m dressing differently and it pisses me off.
Pushing the computer chair back, I stand up and round the desk until I’m standing right next to him. I tap the foot of my left leg against the hardwood floor, the sound echoing around the room, daring him to look down at my leg and wince. For years I’ve never worn skirts unless they went well past my knees, or I’ve done away with them altogether and chosen tailored dress slacks to hide my scars. Ever since my fight with Eli a few days ago, I’ve worn nothing but skirts. Sure, they’re not super short or indecent. They still cover most of my scar, the hems stopping a few inches above my knee so only a hint of the bottom of my scar shows, but it’s still out there, for anyone to see.
That damn fight with Eli broke apart something inside me, and now I can’t get a handle on it and pull it back inside. I can’t calm my nerves, I can’t tamp down my anger, and I don’t want to hide.
Landry’s eyes never leave my face even though I’m standing here, silently daring him to look down. Trail across my body until he notices the scar and makes his usual grimacing face of disgust. I want him to do it. I want him to give me a reason to lash out even more and I’m not even sorry for feeling this way. I try to remind myself that he’s a decent man and he’s good to me, but it’s not working. All I see when I look at him right now is a sad little puppy who does everything my mother tells him, using her popularity and my father’s past political connections to get his seat in the state senate. He doesn’t defend me, he doesn’t stick up for me, and he never disagrees with any decision she makes, including the most recent one of taking me off all the charity boards, removing me from almost all of my duties, and basically demoting me to being a receptionist answering the phones for the next few weeks.