Page 19 of Cruel Winter with You

“Still! You are rich and handsome—you can doso much betterthan me!”

His eyes were incredulous. “You are delusional. There is no one better. And if there were, I wouldn’t want them.” His hand tilted my jaw, as if to make sure I was paying attention to him and him only. “Do you thinkI’mnot a mess? Do you thinkI’mnot constantly terrified of letting down the people around me? Of not being enough for you? Do you think ‘rich and handsome’ matters when I feel lost and alone all the fucking time except when I’m with you? Come on, Jamie. You know me. That’s the reason you and I have always understood each other so well—how alike we are. You’ve been with me at my lowest and at my shittiest, and always managed to hold me accountable while never judging me. You’re the only one who saw me not just for who I really was but also for what I could be, and ... I wantyou. I wanteverythingwith you. I want to go to work in the morning knowing that I’ll see you at home every night. I want to be there when you have a terrible day at the hospital, and be the one who reminds you that youare a fantastic doctor. I want to introduce you to every single person I’ve ever met as my wife. I want to travel back to Illinois with you for the holidays. I want the two of us to be on the same team when we play Pictionary with our families, and—” He pressed a firm kiss against my lips. “I want to give you the world, Jamie. Let me. Just let me, please.”

“No. No, you don’t. Marc, I ... I’m a mess. I’m too busy for a relationship.”

“Are you really too busy, Jamie? Or are you just fucking terrified?”

“You don’t get it. I honestly ... At this point, I’m not even sure I can be in a relationship. There is probably something wrong with me, and ...”

But Marc was already shaking his head, and at that moment it occurred to me: he didn’t get it. He didn’t get how impossible this was. He didn’t get that he needed someone better than me.

He was going to push back, again and again, until my defenses collapsed and I selfishly accepted everything he was offering. I was going to gobble him up, and two, five, ten years from now he was going to tire of me and leave.

Just like so many others had.

So I took a deep breath, briefly closed my eyes, and coldly said what I had to say. “It’s like you once told me: you’re just stuck at some weird stage of development.”

“Oh, come on. I was sixteen and mad at my sister for spilling my secrets. I never really thought—”

“I do, though. Marc, you’re immature, childish, and I’m just ... I’m not really attracted to you.” I hid my trembling hands behind my back. “I’m sorry, but to me you’ll always be the annoying little boy I had to tolerate because of my best friend.” My heart hurt like it had been punched, but I forcedmyself to continue. “Romantically, I don’t want anything to do with you. Not now and not ever.”

Chapter Six

Iam fucking furious with you,” Marc tells me.

In the firelight, his eyes are silver, as cutting as a blade. They remind me of the way his face hardened four months ago, after I told him all those horrible, false things, after I walked away from him and the shore.

But then his expression shifts to something different. Something wistful. “I’m just not furious for the reasons you think.”

“Yeah?” I ask. I glance briefly at the raging storm, but the tequila makes looking anywhere but at him very difficult. “I was a bitch to you. The things I said were unnecessarily cruel. That has to be the reason.”

“Jamie ...” He sighs. His anger looks a lot like sadness. “You’re not as unreadable as you think.” I have no clue what he means. Before I can decode it, he asks, “Why are you so sure that it wouldn’t work out between us?”

“Is this your next question?”

“Sure.”

I blink at my empty glass. “I’ll need a refill, then.”

“Too bad. You’re done for tonight.” In a single, firm sweep he moves the bottle out of reach. “And fuck this stupid game. Just tell mewhy.”

“You’re the one who wanted to play—”

“Just answer my question, Jamie. And I’ll tell you what it is that makes me so angry.”

I shouldn’t. Tell him the innermost workings of my mind, that is.He could use them to hurt you,a voice warns. Does it matter, though, when I’m already so good at hurting myself? “You have no idea how messy the inside of my head really is. In fact, I’m probably like my dad. Impossible to be with. Somehow, sooner or later, everyone I really care about leaves. And I wouldn’t be able to— You’d get bored. I’m not interesting or exciting. I mean, the week after our fight, you were literally datinga model—”

He scoffs.

I am suddenly, irrationally angry. “Well, it’s true. Your sister sent me that picture of you with—”

“Ryan, right?”

I lower my eyes.

“She and I do hang out a lot. She’s great. A fantastic person.”

“I’m glad,” I mutter, and then stand, meaning to ... go lock myself in the bathroom to escape this conversation. It’s a mistake, because I’m much less steady than I thought I’d be. It gives Marc ample time to rise to his feet.

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