Page 22 of Lonesome Man
“You’re the one who amazes me. All these beautiful things you’ve made? I could never.”
He chuckled. “We’re both pretty amazing, huh?”
“I think so,” I said as I watched him eat. It was impossible to look away.
“What?” he asked, running his hand down his beard. “Have I got food on my face?”
I shook my head. “Nope, I was just thinking even the way you eat is sexy.”
A laugh rolled from him, and it was deliciously rough. “Only ’cause I’m on my best behavior with you here. When I’m alone, it’s another story completely.”
“Food everywhere?” I said, chuckling.
“I’m a pig.”
“Do you get lonely?” I asked before I knew I was going to. “It has to be tough out here on your own.”
His gorgeous eyes slid from mine and he looked out the window, where it was now sleeting, threatening snow again. “Yeah, I get lonely,” he said, then turned to me. “That’s why I brought you out here, right? But I was born to live this life. If I didn’t like solitude at least some of the time, I’d leave, move to a town or a city.” He shrugged. “But that’s just not the life I want for myself.”
“What kind of life do you want for yourself?” I asked, again before I could stop myself. He’d told me some of this before, over the radio and our calls and emails, but seeing the truth of his words, the depth of feeling right there on his face when he spoke about this place, I needed to see it, I was desperate to see it for some reason.
He flashed me a grin. “This conversation got serious all of a sudden.”
“Sorry, I was just?—”
“Nah, it’s fine.” He stared at me for a moment, as if he were deciding what to say. “I think you have an idea.”
I did, didn’t I? He’d wanted to live out a fantasy where he was married with the woman he was madly in love with, live out here together, have a family. “You want to share this life with a wife and kids.”
He blew out a breath and sat back. “I thought I was doing okay, you know? I had my once-a-year visits, my woodwork, my animals to keep me busy. Then Hank met Birdie, and not long after Beau found Freya, then Cash…” He shook his head. “Cash, my stoic, quiet, painfully shy cousin, married Riley. Shit, even he put himself out there and found someone. I saw what they all had together, and I realized I wasn’t okay anymore. That I wanted what they had.”
“It has to be hard, seeing them all so happy.” My heart thundered in my chest. I wanted to tell him it was me, Libby, that I was right here. But now that I saw just how much I’d hurt him, I couldn’t do that to him all over again. Learning who I really was, that I’d come here and never told him it was me—he would be devastated. No, it was too late. There was no excuse for my silence. My deception. Even if I’d had no idea it was him I’d be staying with until I arrived, and even if it had been a shock when I got off the plane and my fears had gotten the best of me, it would seem twisted, almost like I was mocking him, or taking some sick pleasure in being with him like this.
Like I was using him.
I’d made the wrong decision and I’d fucked everything up. Ruined everything. Again. There was no explaining this, not now, not after almost two weeks and still not telling him the truth.
“It can be. Honestly, I thought Libby…” He glanced up at me when he said the name, my name, telling me without words something I already knew—she was real, not just some name he came up with. “I’d convinced myself that she was my future. It was naive, just some teenage fantasy to start with. Then she went off to college and we kept in touch, but the emails every week…those emails kept that dream alive, you know? I’ve never even seen her face. I don’t even know what she looks like, I just heard her voice over a crackly radio once a week when we were teenagers, and I’d convinced myself I was in love with her.”
My breath caught and I had to force myself to draw breath. “Why her?”
His chin jerked up a little and his brows lowered.
He looked surprised by the question. “You could online date, meet someone, but you haven’t, have you? Why?”
He looked back out the window and laughed humorlessly, in a way that was self-depreciating. “I haven’t online dated, no, because even though Libs gave up on me—stopped emailing me, stopped answering my calls four years ago—I haven’t been able to give up on her. This time, with you, it was my chance to pretend I had what my cousins did, and the only person I could ever see myself with was Libs.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “But you’re, fuck, you’re exactly how I pictured her, Ruth, and the role-playing has got me feeling things I need to stop feeling. I think that last time we played, you worked out where my head was at, yeah?”
“You wanted to punish her for hurting you?” I whispered.
He leaned forward, swallowing thickly, as he rested his forearms on his knees. “Apparently, yeah, I did, and until you came here, I had no idea how fucked up I still was over her leaving me the way she did.” He turned to look at me, hurt etched on his face. “For a really fucking long time, she was everything, my best friend, my girlfriend, even if that was only in my damned head, because I truly believed it was inevitable, that Libs and I were inevitable. We shared everything with each other in those emails, well, I did. I’ve never felt closer to anyone else in my life. When she emailed and said she wasn’t where I was, that she needed space and time to think, I guess I thought it was only a matter of time before she reached out to me again. So I decided not to look for someone else. Hiring someone for company was easy, there was no risk of getting attached. Now four years have passed and not a word.” He reached out, brushing his thumb over my cheek. “But just so you know, if anyone could make me fall, it’s you, Ruth. I really fucking like you. If things were different...” He chuckled roughly and shook his head. “Sorry, that wasn’t cool.”
“No, don’t apologize.” I took his hand. When he tried to pull it away, I squeezed it, staring into those gorgeous eyes of his. “Yeah, I…” I swallowed thickly. “If things were different…” I whispered, and said no more, because I couldn’t give him what he wanted, what we both wanted.
If things were different and I hadn’t grown up in a household full of pain and abuse.
If the idea of living like this again hadn’t terrified me so much that I’d stopped emailing and calling because I knew we were inevitable as well.
If only I’d told the truth the minute I got off the plane.
