Page 82 of The Only Time

Her lips curve inside her mouth as tears threaten to spill over her lids. “Don’t do that. Don’t say something you don’t mean.”

“Don’t mean? Of course I mean it. I’m so sorry about how I behaved. I was just scared of my feelings for you. But I do, I love you.”

She shakes her head back and forth. “No. Maybe you think you love me, but it’s just the guilt you’re feeling right now.”

“Dammit, Mia. That’s not true,” I reply desperately.

“How can I be sure?” she asks as a tear slides down her cheek. “I don’t want someone to confess their love for me out of guilt. That’s not love.”

“This is not about guilt.”

“But I don’t know how I can trust that. I’m sorry, Eric. I know you’re trying, and you’re a good guy. I appreciate you coming here, but I can’t put my heart on the line if I don’t trust the person that I’m giving it to.”

The idea that she doesn’t trust me makes my heart ache, raw and exposed. The quiet that follows creates a hollowness that takes residence in my chest. I just quit my job for her, just declared my love, and she’s rejecting it.

Coming here, I feared I lost her in the worst possible way, but this is much worse. This is losing her by her choice, and it kills me. But if it’s what she wants, I have to accept that.

She’s been through enough, and has had one crazy ex to deal with. She doesn’t need the stress of another.

Tears threaten to come, but I hold them back. I don’t want her to feel any worse than she does right now. Just because I fucked up my chance with her, doesn’t mean she needs to feel the brunt of my pain.

I lift her hand to my lips and give it a kiss. Her lips tremble as tears fall down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry I let you down. You’ll never know how much I will regret losing my chance with you.” I let her hand go and stand up. “Goodbye, Mia.”

It takes everything in me to get myself out of her room without turning around and begging for forgiveness. I want to fight for her, but I also don’t want to be her next Don. I love her too much to put her through dealing with another man who won’t let her go.

I just have to accept that I fucked up. I had my chance with her, and I let my stupid past get in the way.

As I walk outside, I hesitate.

Why am I giving up? So, I pushed her away when I was scared. That doesn’t mean I don’t love her. That doesn’t mean she can’t trust me ever again. All that should matter is that she loves me, and I swear she does.

I can feel it when I’m with her.

I’m about to take a step back inside the hospital, but I can’t. I ball my fists at my sides as I picture her trying to rest and havingto deal with someone kicking me out. It makes me sick. No, I was right to leave. She asked me to go, and I’m going to respect her wishes.

Before I head back home, there’s something I need to do. I pull out my phone and text Layla. There’s one more piece of information I need her to get for me.

This one comes with a bit of confusion and refusal on her part until I demand that I get the address. It takes her an hour to get it for me, but at least I’m in the car and on my way.

If I can’t have Mia or be here to protect her, then I’ll be damned if I don’t take care of business before I leave.

The entire drive my body shakes with rage as I think about Mia falling down the stairs. She could have been seriously hurt or even killed. I don’t understand how her ex isn’t in jail. Layla says according to Mia’s brother, he was questioned by the police with the restraining order reinforced. That’s not enough.

The car slowly comes to a stop in front of a large house. I look up at it through my window.

“I need you to stay here,” I tell the driver. “This will only take a minute.”

I don’t wait for his response. Stepping out of the car, I pull down each sleeve of my shirt as I take calculated steps towards the front door.

The house is in a cookie cutter wealthy neighborhood with no personality whatsoever. A Rolls-Royce sits in the driveway. It all screams insecurity to me, but then again, who am I to talk? It’s amazing what money does to all of us.

I get to the front door and pound on it with my fist. As I wait, I adjust the collar on my shirt, wishing I didn’t feel so constrained in it.

When the door opens, I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course, the dude is dressed in a polo and has perfectly gelled hair.

He looks me up and down. “Who are you?” he asks with a sense of discomfort.

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