Page 148 of Never Let You Go

“I’m not gonna forget it. I want you to tell me why you flew out the parking lot, when clearly, you came to pick me up.” I know why she did. I want her to own it. Can she do that for me?

Does she care about me enough to fight for us? Call me on my shit? Tell me that what she saw was hurtful? Confusing? Fucking bullshit? That she won’t put up with it?

“What am I supposed to do when another woman clings to you? Just ignore it, right?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Claim me. I want you to claim me, Alexandra. I want you to want me the way I want you. I want you to tell me to go fuck myself with my game of hiding around. “Nothing.”

She turns her back to me and looks out the window. “I suppose you have new plans for tonight,” she drops. She doesn’t even want to argue, to call me out for saying one thing and then the opposite.

“No.” I take two steps and stop shy of her. The tremble of her body is visible. I place a hand on her shoulder, and she stiffens. “Hey,” I say softly. If she’d stayed, she’d have seen me push Emma away. I’d have been with her in seconds. I might even have kissed her in the parking lot. Because—fuck people.

The thing is, I’d make her mine in front of the whole damn town if only she’d give us a chance. If only she’d tell me she’s not going back to New York.

But she decided to leave, again. Just like when she saw lipstick on my shirt and went to karaoke, or when I was having dinner at Emma’s and she went to The Growler. She might be pissed, but not enough to put up a fight.

She doesn’t seem to care enough to do anything about it but run.

“You looked good in my truck,” is all I say.

It’s getting dark out when I knock on her bedroom door a couple of hours later. I go in before she answers.

Her face is collected, and there’s no trace of her previous anger or tears. Is that a mask, or is that how she really feels? Like nothing.

“Oh perfect,” she says, turning her back to me, her hands laced at the top where she’s fumbling with the clasp of her dress.

Standing behind her, I push her hair aside and kiss her neck, then proceed to hook the clasp of her dress. It’s a detail, but it’s everything, and it nearly tears me apart before this evening even starts. Me clasping her dress before we go out is a glimpse at what life as a couple looks like.

A life I thought I’d never want.

Until her.

She looked so fucking edible in my truck this afternoon, and even before I stepped out of the arena, I was wishing I’d told her to come pick me up so we could drive home together.

Home.

Together.

I want that so bad.

I want my bedroom to be hers. I want my car to be hers. Fuck, I want my daughter to be hers. I want to give her my life.

Because I know how she looks when she’s in my arms, I know how she looks when she’s with Skye, and that’s a thousand times better than when she’s on the phone with any person in New York. Hell, even when she hangs up with her friend, Sarah, she has a worry crease that I never see here—not even when she’s messing up in the bakehouse.

As I guide her into the restaurant with my hand on the small of her back, I indulge in this fantasy that we’ve come out as a couple.

Alexandra mellows under my touch, and I wonder if she feels the same.

Can I bring her back to where we were before what happened in the parking lot? Before Emma pulled her stint. We were so good. We were building something. And then her confidence in me fell apart in less than a few seconds.

I need to talk to her. Ask her if she’d consider staying here.

But that’s crazy, right? Why would she do that?

Where will she go when she leaves? My mind drifts to the dark side as I mindlessly peruse the menu.

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