Page 94 of Floored

"Maybe I shouldn't have said that," I started, "but I do miss you, Lia. Very much."

She let her head fall back with a sigh, against a dark gray upholstered headboard, and her eyes never wavered from mine. "I ... I don't know what I should say to that, Jude."

"Why don't we start with what you want to say?"

Her eyes closed briefly, and I saw the struggle in the pinch of her brow and the lines that appeared on her forehead when she was deep in thought.

"I wish I could," she whispered. "I wish I could tell you those things without worrying about the consequences that might come with it."

I rubbed a hand over my forehead and again, cursed the distance between us.

"I almost didn't even call you," she admitted.

"Why not?"

"Seeing your face …" She paused, sucking in a slow breath and then letting it out through pursed lips. "It's hard, Jude. Because it makes me wish we could be back like it was before. And I'm happy being back home. I'm happy to be with my family. I was afraid you'd make me wish I wasn't. And even though I know it's the right thing to be home right now, I was afraid you'd make me wish I was still there with you," she admitted quietly.

Frustration ebbed and flowed inside me, not in any great giant waves, but a low simmer that was out of my hands just as much as it was out of hers. It was the truth of our situation that she couldn't stay in England forever, and I was in the middle of a season, unable to even contemplate what changes the next season might bring.

But still, there was an irrational spark of hope at her softly spoken confession. Could I yet prove that I was the best man for her? I wanted to. That much was clear.

"And have I made you wish that, love?" I asked. The moment it was out of my mouth, I knew what a selfish question it was. And I saw in her face that it was the perfectly wrong thing for me to say.

She sighed. "Oh, Jude."

"I'm sorry." I shook my head. "That was stupid."

"No, I'm muddying things too." She covered her face with one hand. I wanted to rip that hand away. I wanted to kiss her fingers and palm. I wanted to taste her mouth again and cover my body with hers, see how it had changed and how it felt now. But even more than that, I found myself wanting to take away whatever brief flash of pain I'd just caused her with my stupid pride.

Wasn't that always my problem?

My unrelenting need to prove myself valuable, prove myself worthy had cost me so much more than it had gained me. Especially in the past few years.

"Look at me," I told her gently.

She lowered her hand.

"I won't do that again," I vowed. "I think I was momentarily weakened by the mental image of you eating a freshly baked cookie. I know what sounds you make when that happens, and I'm only human, love."

Lia smiled so brilliantly, bloody hell, it hurt to look at. I'd do anything to see her smile like that, I realized. Even if it cost me.

She bid me a quiet good night, and we disconnected the call. For a long time after, I stared at the ceiling.

Maybe that was what she'd been trying to show me when she walked away all those months ago. It cost her to walk away from me, but she'd still done it. There was strength in putting someone else first, like she'd done with our child. I knew that now. I was far enough removed from the bloody dinner that my own selfish words echoed like a broken bell in my mind, discordant and harsh. Yes, my parents said some bloody terrible things, but in my choices that night, in my complete inability to be honest with people about the things I was struggling with, I'd made Lia suffer as a result.

Lia's strength had been showing me what love looked like when you asked someone to be accountable for their actions.

If she'd cared less, she wouldn't have minded half as much how I was acting. Her leaving proved something that I hadn't been able to see at the time.

And not once in my life had I ever had that modeled for me, not until her.

It was the edge piece I was missing, where Declan's words provided the full image I'd been puzzling over.

Sometimes, you proved your worth by showing what you were willing to give up.

What Lia was asking of me was a selfless love, not a parade of proof or a litany of accomplishments for why I'd earned her priceless favor. Not even for her, but for our child.

They were both priceless, a legacy that I could never have built by myself and never could have earned. But if I could pull my head out of my arse, I just might yet be able to.

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