Page 152 of Bitter Rival

“But what if I never show up?”

In one long stride, he’s standing in front of me and takes my face in his hands. And then he presses his lips against my forehead. Softly. Gently. So tenderly that my eyes drift shut and tears prick the back of my lids.

I clutch his coat lapels, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

Is there anything sweeter than a forehead kiss from the man you love? I think not.

He pulls back, taking his warmth with him, and gives me a soft smile. “Then that’s your choice and I’ll have to respect it.”

It takes me a second to figure out what he’s referring to. But what if I never show up?

My gaze lowers and I swallow. His hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to touch me again.

“Is this a trick?” I ask warily.

“No. It’s not a trick. I’m not Zelda,” he scoffs.

I laugh. That sounds more like the Beckett I know. “So you’re just giving up? Just like that?”

He shakes his head. “No. I’m not giving up. Quite the opposite.”

I lift my gaze to his face and for the first time I notice the bleakness in his eyes. Like he’s scared that he’s already lost me.

“This is me fighting for you with everything in me. I’m choosing you, Daisy. I’m choosing you so that you can choose yourself. But just know that you’re my number one. You’re it for me. There is no one else. Only you,” he says, desperation seeping into every word. “So I’ll wait. And if you don’t come… I will still be waiting.”

All the air whooshes out of my lungs, and I stand, rooted to the spot while I watch him walk out the door.

I’m so tempted to run after him, to tell him that I don’t want him to leave without me, but I bite my tongue and let him go, my knees so weak I have to lean against the wall for support.

The ball’s in my court. The choice is mine.

Beckett has given up the one thing he’s always held on to so tightly. Control.

It’s only after the door closes behind him and I hear his footsteps retreating that I wipe the tears off my cheeks and whisper, “I love you too.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Beckett

I check my pulse. Check my forehead for signs of a fever. Put my hand over my heart to ensure it’s still beating.

Prognosis: I’ll live.

Newsflash: It hurts like hell.

So much for doing the right thing. Highly overrated if you ask me.

By relinquishing my control and giving Daisy the choice, I gave up the one thing I could never in a million years replace—the person I crave, yearn for, and would write fucking sonnets about if I had even an acumen of writing ability.

Luckily for the world, I have neither the talent nor the inclination.

But now I’m facing the real possibility that Daisy might never choose me, and I’ve been coexisting with that painful truth since the day I left New York three weeks ago.

Love hurts like a motherfucker. Is it any wonder I steered clear of it for so long? Just kick me in the balls repeatedly, why don’t you?

I drag myself out of bed and get dressed for the day.

Luckily, I have plenty of work to keep me busy.

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