Page 202 of Ewan

That’s not the case with him.

He has a lot of people to be accountable to.

Elisa.

Colley.

Ezra.

Even the girl his son is leading on.

“He’s a man,” he pushes out, his voice heavy, and I beg to differ.

“He’s a man who needs you. He wanted to talk to you tonight because he knew you were back. And you are his father.”

The more I talk, the darker his expression.

“And then there’s Colley and his mother. I’ll need to talk to these people again and pretend I’m this cool teacher and an honorable woman––”

“You are an honorable woman,” he cuts me off.

“What makes you say that? Is it making money as a pole dancer? Fucking in random motel rooms? Sneaking into your house while your son is looking for you?”

“Are you suddenly regretting all that?” he retorts.

I move closer to him, my eyes getting blurry from my unshed tears.

“I don’t regret anything, Ewan. I loved every moment of it. Every filthy little thing you did to me, but this…” I gesture in the direction of the dining room. “This changes everything. And you know that. You knew it from the beginning. Whether you want to acknowledge it or not is a different story. You wanted to do the right thing and made us move slowly. I don’t know what you had hoped, but it didn’t quite work, did it? And then you realized moving slowly wasn’t the answer. We couldn’t know much about each other if we were only friends. You did quite a few things, and many of them were contradictory, and I loved all of them. Every little thing you did. Except one. I didn’t like that you couldn’t talk to me. Or you didn’t want to talk to me. Were you afraid that I’d be asking for more? Were you afraid that I’d be saying no to you?”

His eyes narrow with anguish.

“I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“Scare me off? How? Why?”

A sarcastic smile tugs at his lips.

“Are you asking me that?” he tosses at me.

I gesture at him in frustration.

“Okay. All right. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to think this through.”

My chest hurts as the obvious option, and my only option presents itself.

“What about we do this. I’ll call a cab and go home.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll take you home,” he says.

My index finger goes up.

“You can’t take me home. If you do, I’ll end up crying in your arms,” I say, crushed by the rawness of my words.

I take a long breath and exhale slowly.

Despite my efforts, my heart is still racing like crazy.

Of all the ways this night could’ve ended, this has never crossed my mind.

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