Page 70 of Take What You Want

He blurs in front of me, tears clouding my vision and I duck my head, letting them fall down my cheeks. Before they reach my chin, Nikolai is there, cupping my face and brushing them away gently.

His beautiful face creases with his own emotions. “I hate seeing you cry,” he whispers.

“Then stop being the reason for it,” I plead. “For years, I’ve cried over you and I hate it. Ihateit.”

“I hate it, too.” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”

As I pull away, his arms hang limp at his sides and I wipe my own tears away with the backs of my hands. “Sorry doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just say sorry and expect it to fix the last nine years.”

He hangs his head. “I know. I don’t expect it, either. But is it so hard for you to imagine that I might want to try to work through things with you? Do you not still feel something between us?”

“It’s not about me not still feeling something between us.” Because God, I still do. Hearing him sing tonight crashed open the flood gates I’ve built, and instead of being the twenty-seven-year-old successful woman I am now, I’m seventeen again, wondering if the songs he’s singing are about me. Are any of the words he poured out from his heart about me?

My chest twists at the thought because I think I know the answer to that. And my brain immediately scolds me because we’re not getting our feelings tangled up in Nikolai Brooks again.

I wish I could wipe away the years of hurt. The distrust. The memory of him telling me to take back my confession and the way it felt like my heart was literally ripping in two.

Then tonight, I wish I could scrub seeing him and Kerra sing together from my mind. Logically, I know it’s his job. And deep down, I know he doesn’t have actual feelings for her. But it all piles on top of the other issues we have until I’m wading in water that keeps trying to pull me under.

“But you do?” he asks as he takes a tentative step forward. “Still feel something between us?”

I could lie. I could say no. That I’m over him. Over us. That I don’t feel my heart skip a beat every time he makes me breakfast in the mornings or we eat dinner together on the couch at night. That I don’t seek out his presence subconsciously and find myself roaming the house just to soak up all of the little things it’s decorated with that make himhim.

But I’ve never shied away from my feelings when it comes to Nikolai. And maybe that has always been my downfall.

“I do.” His shoulders relax in relief but it’s short-lived as I continue. “But it doesn’t change things. And as much as I wished and hoped over the years that things ended differently between us, the fact is that they didn’t. We aren’t meant for each other, Nikolai. And it’s time you accepted that.”

He clenches his jaw so tightly I worry his teeth might shatter. “I’m not accepting that.”

“No?” I want to laugh. He doesn’t just get to decide what he will and won’t accept when it comes to us.

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You’re not even going to try?” he sputters, cheeks flushing. “You’re not even going to give us another chance?”

Anger bubbles in my blood as I shoot back, “I wouldn’t have to give us another chance if you wouldn’t have fucked it up in the first place!”

“God, I said I’m sorry! I know I messed up, but are you going to hold that over me, over us, forever?”

He thinks he just gets to decide when he wants to give this another go and I’ll just be ready and willing? I laugh because of course he does. He’s impulsive. Always has been and always will be. When he wants something, he wants it right now. The idea of consequences or actions needing to be executed doesn’t cross his mind.

“That’s an unfair judgment,” I say. “I’m not holding it over you. But you hurt me and I’m not just going to forget that. You can’t expect me to.”

He closes the space between us and pulls me against his chest. One hand grips my hip and the other cups my jaw, both searing into my skin and soul. “I don’t expect you to,” he whispers harshly, “but I’m asking you to try.”

“I don’t know if I can,” I admit in a wrecked murmur.

His breath coasts over my forehead, and if I tilted my head the slightest bit, our lips would find each other. The thought is oh so tempting. To feel his mouth on mine again. To taste him one more time. I didn’t know it would be the last time when it was the last time and I wish I would’ve savored it more.

Isn’t that how it always goes? You never know it’s the last time until it’s too late.

And it’s too late for us. I pull away and collect myself. Brushing my hands down the front of my dress, I inhale deeply before looking up to meet Nikolai’s gaze.

---