Page 87 of Verses Of Us

Intimidated by her intense glare, he leaned back and looked up at the darkening sky. “It had to happen, though.”

“Did it?”

He heard the hurt in her voice and sat up, nodding. “Doesn’t mean I don’t regret it. Cause I do. Every single day.”

“It was a long time ago. I’m sure it hasn’t been on your mind since then.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “You always had a knack for underestimating your importance. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”

“Seriously,” she began, tucking her hair. “You’ve had plenty to keep you busy.”

“You mean other women? Oh sure, I’ve had loads. None like you, though.”

She glanced sideways at him. “Over fifteen years’ worth of women? I’m sure you found better than me.”

He didn’t answer right away, but waited until she looked at him to speak. “To be fair, Lex, I’m not the one who got married.”

It was a low blow, one he regretted instantly, but she wasn’t being fair and she was on the attack. She always worked this way. He brought his beer to his lips, pausing before taking a sip, his eyes slitted.

A low snicker split the silence. “You’re right, I did. I lived my life. Like you did.”

“Sounds to me like yours was way better than mine.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what my life was like after…” Her words faded.

“After I left?” he concluded.

She flicked her thumbnail, staring at it. “Don’t sit here and make me feel guilty because I fell in love with someone else.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Then what did you intend? To bring me here and charm me with all this?” She waved her hand around. “Did you think that all would be forgiven?”

“No, I just—”

“Don’t forget, you’re the one who left. Not me.”

She sank back into her chair, drinking her whiskey without flinching, not like she used to do. The flames grew higher. The fire crackled, sending embers into the sky, and he glared at her, seeing her literally in a new light.

“This is pointless,” she huffed and got up.

“Where are you going?”

“This was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.” His voice cracked.

“If we’re only going to throw blame around, then I should leave.”

“Don’t… go.” He stared into his glass; his jaw clenched. “I need you to stay.”

She released a heavy, slightly shaky breath. Stuck under the weight of what she was holding back, he could tell she was suffering. But he wouldn’t push it.

“Please stay?” he pleaded again.

It was growing late, and the fields were getting swallowed up by dark shades of purple. She glanced around and, as if noticing the late hour, too, her shoulders dropped.

“Only if you stop hiding what you want to say.”

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