Page 89 of Trying Sophie

I heard him approach from the other side of the room but I wouldn’t look at him. Coming to stand in front of me, he gripped my arms in his huge hands.

“What’s wrong?”

When I met his eyes, a tear slid down my cheek.

Fuck.

“Baby, what’s going on?” he whispered, his voice fearful, as he bent his knees to bring us to eye level. His gaze searching mine, he asked, “What can I do?”

I hiccuped as I sucked in a breath and tried to control my reaction.

“This was a mistake,” I murmured and, unable to withstand his scrutiny a second longer, dropped my eyes to the floor. “I shouldn’t have come here; we shouldn’t have done this. I’m sorry I let it go this far.”

He nudged my chin and gaped at me. “No, Soph. Don’t say that.”

Wrapping my pride around me in a protective layer, I straightened my spine and stood tall and steeled my resolve.

“You don’t want me Declan. Not really.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to argue, but I forged on.

“You only wanted the idea of me. Now that you’ve had it, I think we should go our separate ways. I’ll take a taxi home.”

When I stepped around him, he gripped my arm and spun me back to face him.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he protested. “Not until you explain what the ever loving fuck you’re going on about.”

He marched us over to the sofa and pressed me into its flowery, overstuffed cushions. Dropping onto his heels, his eyes bored into mine until I was forced to look away, my chin raised defiantly.

“You fought me when I tried to connect with you. You were inside of me, but you couldn’t look at me.” I cried.

“Shit,” he uttered. “Is that really what you thought?”

My head snapped back around. “What else was I supposed to think?”

“Ah fuck, Sophie,” he sighed, falling into the chair opposite me. Propping his elbow on his thigh, he rested his face against his palm. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe it was weak of me but I dropped my guard, wanting him to explain, to say something that would take away all my hurt. Willing him to explain in a way that would allow me to forgive him.

“What was it about then?”

“I …” He paused, then closed his eyes. When he opened them he stared out across the room. “It was too much.”

“I don’t understand.”

Declan huffed out a sardonic laugh. “No, you wouldn’t.”

There was so much I wanted to say—so many cutting, biting responses I wanted to throw out so he’d know how badly I was hurting right now, how he continued to hurt me by refusing to open up—but in the end I settled on asking him to simply let me in.

“I might if you tell me.”

The room fell silent and while I waited for his response, my hope died a little with each second that passed. Eventually, I stood to leave but for a few brief seconds I silently begged him to look at me, for him to plead with me to stay, but the longer I waited, the more my heart broke.

Finally, I did what I should have done from the very beginning—I walked away from Declan O’Shaughnessy and everything I’d grown to feel for him.

Gathering my purse, I paused at the door and took a deep breath. It was only when I twisted the door handle, his voice broke in.

“I don’t do this,” he choked out and when I turned, I saw monumental cracks in his cocky, confident aura.

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