Page 137 of When Fate Breaks
I straighten, shaking my head. “You’re unbelievable,” I breathe, turning away from Blake before a single tear manages to roll over. I swipe it away as I walk to the closest table behind me, bracing my arms on its edge and keeping my back to Blake. After several long silent seconds, however, I feel the heat of him behind me.
“What were the other things?” he whispers.
I stay frozen in place. “What?”
“The so many other things you wanted to tell me. In New York. What were they?”
I shake my head, letting it fall as I bite down on my bottom lip. I feel him draw closer still, my back burning.
Blake’s fingertips just brush against the edge of my right shoulder before he sweeps my hair from the side of my face and onto my back, the cool air sending a shiver through me as it hits my neck. The pads of his fingers feel like fire against the ice of my skin as they move back to tuck my shortest strands behind my ear, securing them in place.
“Evangeline,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning my cheek, causing me to shudder.
His hand slides gently down my neck to my shoulder, applying the lightest force possible to let me know he wants me to turn around.
I do.
When my eyes open, I’m staring straight into Blake’s chest. I slowly lift my chin, meeting his gaze. His blue-green eyes shine down at me in the moonlight as his jaw tightens. As much as I may want to, I don’t look away, challenging him.
“Look,” Blake says, his hands resting on either of my shoulders. “I let you go once. I let you think that Iwantedyou to go.” His throat bobs, his fingers flexing against my skin. “I won’t make that mistake again. If you walk away from me right now, I need you to know that it’s entirely your choice. That if it were up to me, I wouldn’t spend another day without you by my side.”
The sound of my blood pounding in my ears is deafening, and, in that distraction, I allow a tear to escape. Blake reaches up and gently wipes it away with his thumb. My heart feels like it could tear from my chest at any moment. I focus on my breathing as Blake’s thumb remains lingering on my cheek. He meets my eyes once before he slowly drags his thumb down the side of my face, leaving sparks along every millimeter of its wake, until it reaches the corner of my mouth. He takes a step closer, running his thumb over my bottom lip. A pit forms deep in my stomach, fear, shame, and sheer burning desire all swirling within it. Blake leans closer, electricity firing in the short distance between us.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I don’t know,” Blake breathes, his gaze flicking from my lips to my eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”
My breaths come out harsh and choppy as panic begins to clench at my chest and fire within my brain. My fight-or-flight kicks in and, before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m pushing away from the table, ducking under Blake's arm, and storming for the door. I don’t look back as I fly across the threshold of the house, slamming the door behind me.
I have every intention of running straight for my bedroom, but my knees collapse out from under me, forcing me to lean back against the door. I stay there for several seconds, trying and failing to catch my breath.
What the hell was that?
I don’t know what has me angrier. The fact that Blake just said those things to me or the fact that I even gave him the opportunity. Or the fact that we could have given each other the opportunity years ago.
I run my hands down my face.
It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. This is my life. I’m going to marry Remy. My dad is going to keep the store. I’m going to live in this big beautiful house and stop feeling so damn sorry for myself. Blake will go home–
My heart stutters in my chest.
Blake will go home, I continue to tell myself.He’ll go home to his company and to his life that he’s worked so hard for. The life he deserves.
My back straightens against the door, a memory hitting me like a ton of bricks.
You shouldn’t have to be so sad all the time. You don’t deserve it.
Blake deserves happiness. I know that. But…why don’t I?
I don’t give myself a moment more to think about it before I turn around and fling the door open. My feet skid to a stop before they even start, however, when I find the person I’m looking for standing directly in the doorway, his arms raised and braced on either side of the wooden frame.
Blake’s head slowly lifts, his longest brown curls falling in his line of sight. Our chests are both rising and falling rapidly and our eyes are blazing pools of teal and brown. My gaze happens to drift to the left and, when I catch sight of something I never expected to see, exposed from between the edge of his tank top and the opening of his dress shirt, I dart forward, grabbing onto Blake’s right bicep. He keeps his hand on the doorframe as I twist the upper part of his arm to get a better look. My vision blurs as my lips part.
“You didn’t cover it?” I whisper, running my pointer finger over the small plant sprout tattoo I picked out for Blake ten years ago, the only thing interrupting the intricate tattoo sleeve of flowers and foliage covering the entire upper part of his arm, a solid inch of empty space left around the tiny solitary tattoo to keep it entirely untouched.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Blake questions, his voice cracking.
I peel my eyes from the tattoo I thought was long gone to look at him. “I just assumed,” I say, motioning towards the sleeve of tattoos wrapping his bicep.
