Page 136 of Mistaken Intention

He raises his right hand, cupping my cheek and closing the final gap between us, so his body is pressed against mine. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how much I love you when you asked. I should’ve done. That was a mistake.”

“You mean you still love me?”

“I never stopped. Not even for a second.” I find that hard to believe. I saw the look in his eyes earlier. There wasn’t much love there. I open my mouth to say so, but he moves his thumb, clamping it across my lips. “That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to say ‘sorry’ for.”

I open my mouth and he moves his thumb, letting me speak. “Why? What else do you think you need to apologize for?”

“It’s not an apology, as such, but I wanted to say sorry about Lexi.”

Now I’m really confused, partly about what he’s saying, but also because he’s brushing his thumb back and forth across my lower lip, and it’s very distracting. “I—In what way?”

“In the normal way that people say ‘sorry’ when someone dies. I know you keep saying you weren’t close, but I think you wanted to be. Maybe I’m reading too much into things, I don’t know… but when all’s said and done, you and she were family. She died in that car accident, and I can’t imagine what you went through when you found that out. You learned that your sister was dead, that Maisie had lost her mom, and that I was unconscious… all in the blink of an eye. It must have been horrendous.”

“Yes. It was.”

“And yet you put your own feelings to one side so you could look after my daughter… and me. I know you think you were being selfish, but I think the opposite is much closer to the truth. You couldn’t mourn. You couldn’t even mention your own grief. It was all about me and Maisie. I haven’t acknowledged that yet, and I should have done. I’m sorry, Josie, for what happened to your sister… that you won’t get to find out if you could’ve been friends.”

Tears well in my eyes, blinding me for a moment. “Thank you.” I suck in a breath, waiting for my blurred vision to clear, for his perfect face to come back into focus. “I don’t understand, Drew.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why you’re here? You’re supposed to be angry with me, and you have every right to be.”

“I know. And I am angry with you, but that doesn’t mean you have to run away from me. You said you wouldn’t do it again, after the last time. You agreed you’d stay and talk.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk.”

“I said I needed some time alone. I know I didn’t handle things very well, but the last thing I needed was for you to run out on me again. We’re in a relationship, Josie… or I thought we were, and while I may not be very familiar with relationships, or how they work, my understanding is that you’re not supposed to run every time the going gets tough… unless, of course, you don’t love me.”

“You know I love you. I—I just didn’t think you loved me anymore.”

“That’s my fault. I should have made that clearer… but don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

He brings up his other hand, so he’s cupping my face. “I don’t remember my past. To me, it feels like I’ve had two lives; one before the accident and one after… and I’ve loved you in both of them. You, and no-one else. You’re it, Josie. No matter who I am, or what life I live, you’re mine, and I’m yours.” He rests his forehead against mine. “Please, baby… if you’re scared, or worried, or unsure, I’m the one you should turn to, not run from.”

“But you were so mad at me.”

“I know. The thing is, we can’t keep doing this every time something happens.” He’s right. It hurts too much. He tilts his head back, looking into my eyes, narrowing his own. “There’s more to this, isn’t there? There’s a reason you’re so quick to fly… to say it’s too late, even when it isn’t.” He must’ve read my note, then. I regret writing it now. I regret all of it, but most of all, I regret leaving him. “There’s something I’m not seeing… something that’s not necessarily to do with us.” He sighs, frowning. “Is this something to do with your past?” he asks, his hands moving down to the sides of my neck, his thumbs caressing my jawline. “Was it your mom? No… your stepfather. Did he used to get mad at you?”

“Not me, no. But he used to get mad with Mom.”

“And did she run?”

“No. Not until he cheated, and even then, she didn’t really run. She just gave in, admitted defeat.”

“So, what did she do when your stepfather got mad?”

“She stayed and let him yell at her… let him bully her, hurl abuse, and put her down.”

“And you heard his?”

“Heard it and saw it. Regularly. It always made me run… so I could find somewhere to hide. I grew to hate the conflict, the shouting, the tension. I wanted to pretend I wasn’t there.”

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