Page 87 of A Little More Forgiveness

He nodded slowly, thinking things through. “What about when you have to go away?”

Ah, here we go.

This had been the major sticking point with Karl and David. Being away from them for extended periods of time with my numerous trips all over the country and abroad for work had never sat well with either of my boyfriends. No wonder they got on so much better without me. With my increased absences, they’d been forced into becoming a couple whether they wanted to or not. Whenever I did get home, I felt like I intruded on their lives and ended up becoming more a house guest than a fulltime partner.

I didn’t know what I’d do if the same thing happened here. If I had to observe Leo and Mitch get closer and more intimate, while I became the awkward and eventually unwanted third in the relationship yet again, being forced to watch them pull further and further away from me the longer I stayed around.

I scrubbed my hand over my face, annoyed and frustrated at the situation, as if I was doomed to keep repeating past mistakes. It’s why I’d steered clear from any type of relationship since my breakup. I’d been damn good at sticking to my decision, too, until Leo and Mitch came along and fucked everything up.

“What about it? I go. I work. I come back.”

“That’s it?”

My chair squeaked as I shifted in my seat. “Sometimes I have to go away on business for a while—”

“A while?”

“A couple of weeks, possibly a month or so, if there are a lot of issues needing to be resolved.”

His eyes flicked over my face, assessing. “You think it’s a good idea? To be away from us for so long?”

“No.”

“So, I can only ask again, how do you see this working, especially when we’re at such an early stage of getting to know one another?” Frustration made his tone harsher as he tried to dig for confirmation I was unable to give. I had no way of telling how things would pan out in the future any more than he did. I was not a fucking mind reader.

“Why don’t you tell me how you see this working,” I retaliated. “You’re real quick to ask me the questions, push me for an answer, so what’s your plan, Mitchell? Are you prepared to leave here and move to New York to be with me? You and Leo, once I get him away from his bastard of a stepfather and get him the job he deserves with my company, a place where he’ll be valued and appreciated. Are you prepared to compromise for us? You sell, and you’ll have a shit ton of money and no physical ties. You’ll be free to do whatever you want and go wherever want, so what the hell’s stopping you?”

“You know why I have to stay.”

“No, actually, I don’t. You’re chasing after a ghost, trying to atone for what, I’ve no idea. You hide behind the vision of a life you and Katie dreamed of like a shield. You’re trying to build something you’ve already lost and is in the past, which is preventing you from moving on, from really being happy.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes, Mitch, it is. You’re expecting the two if us to adapt to your situation, make our lives fit around you, while you what? Continue down a path, knowing it’ll inevitably consume you, is already consuming you to the point me and Leo no longer matter? Where’s the compromise in that?”

“I can’t leave here. I can’t.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I’m the reason she’s dead,” he roared at me. “I’m the one who killed her.”

I was stunned. “Wh-What?”

He shot up out of his seat like he’d sat on a rocket, his hands balled into fists, the torment and suffering rolling off him in waves.

“It’s my fault she’s dead. It’s all my fault.” He kept repeating the sentence over and over. I got up, wanting to reach out and take him in my arms, to try to console him. “Don’t,” he snapped, his hands up, warding me off. His complete rejection was like a knife plunged low into my belly.

“Please talk to me,” I pleaded, keeping my voice calm and low, not wanting to aggravate him any further. “How is Katie’s death your fault?”

Eyes shut tight, his breathing heavy, his chest moved rapidly in and out as he tried and failed to rein himself in, to snap the cap on the emotions leaking all over the room.

“Mitch?”

He opened his mouth a few times, his throat bobbing as he tried to get the words out.

“We argued. The night she died. We argued.” His hazel eyes opened to look at me, not revealing a single thing, his barriers fully up. “We’d been trying for a baby for a long while, but it wasn’t happening for us.” He looked away and stared blankly at the wall. “My fault. Low sperm count. We’d completed our second round of IVF.” He sucked in some air and shook his head. “It didn’t work.”

“Oh, Mitch.”

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