Page 104 of Hidden Resolution
“No. No, I…” He trailed off, frustration vibrating off him as his protest dried up. “I was wrong.”
If she weren’t emotionally numb and immune to his bullshit, she might’ve been swayed into forgiving him. Or at least asking what he was wrong about. She suspected she knew, but she wasover it. Something precious was broken beyond repair in his hospital room.
“People don’t change,” she said, throat aching with regret she refused to show. “I believed you were someone I could love. You weren’t.”
He swallowed hard. His sudden anguish surprised her. “Give me a second chance, love.”
“Second? Don’t you mean third? Fourth?” she countered harshly, looking away from his tortured, mesmerizing gaze. She focused all her attention on a frozen mountain peak in the distance, hoping to steal a bit of its icy reserve. Finding the strength to stand firm was an effort.
“I’m not doing this, Mason,” she said roughly. Her self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy were too much to bear on a good day. She certainly had no intention of living it on a daily basis. “Not now. Not ever. I owe myself more. I deserve better.”
“I need to make this right. What can I do?” The aching sweetness of his plea fell on deaf ears.
“Nothing. But what difference would it make if you could? You were perfectly clear—you don’t love me, nor do you want a long-term relationship. I get it. I’ve always gotten it. But your ugliness hammered it home at the same time it drew blood.”
In the face of his silent suffering, she sighed. “Quite honestly, I’m exhausted. I don’t have it in me to worry about how bad your family made you feel with their relentless badgering. That’s why you’re here, right? To once again apologize? Give it a goddamned rest already.”
He shook his head, emotions keeping his reply locked up tight.
She easily recognized what was happening to him because she’d gone through the same exact thing at their final parting—blatant disbelief at no longer being wanted. And regardless of how caring he’d seemed, she was never anything other thana plaything to him. The truth had been an iron fist to her solar plexus, the blow damaging in every conceivable way. With careful precision, she’d switched off the caring centers in her brain and heart to survive the last few weeks. If she let him back in, it would be beyond foolish.
“Please, go away. I have a lot to do today. This drama wasn’t on the schedule,” she said coldly, presenting her back to him.
He remained motionless, not objecting to her leaving.
If her heart spasmed, she ignored it. What girl didn’t want to be chased? But in the past, she’d danced too close to the flames and been barbecued. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d venture near the fire again.
Mason waited until the crew was preparing to leave before he next approached her. During the interim, he went shopping, buying two dozen long-stemmed crimson roses, with the hope she might soften her stance and hear him out.
“You can’t avoid me forever, love,” he said, dogging her steps up the walkway.
“I can, and I will,” she retorted, storming toward the front door.
Right when she would’ve slammed it in his face, he caught it, narrowly avoiding a smashed nose.
“Get out!” she demanded.
Her fury was justified, but it rattled him. If he could just get her to listen…
In the back of his mind, he recognized pushing was wrong. He’d blown apart what they were building, multiple times, and respecting her boundaries was important. But dammit, he hadto try, right? What would life be without her in it? An endless wasteland of minutes grouped together until death knocked.
“Shonda, I’m asking for five minutes, then I’ll leave.” He held out the flowers. “Please.”
Her eyes shifted to his gift, and satisfaction blossomed in his chest, giving him confidence. Hopefully, he scored major brownie points in the romance column.
“These are for you, love,” he said tenderly.
A soft smile curved her lips, and he liked to imagine she was recalling their delicious night of lovemaking on Valentine’s Day. She accepted the arrangement, careful to avoid his touch.
His confidence ebbed, and a strange uneasiness gripped him.
“Start talking,” she said, swinging the door wide. “You have your five minutes.” Purposefully avoiding his gaze, she rooted in a box until she pulled out a pair of scissors and a vase. With great precision, she unwrapped the bouquet and separated the roses.
His relief was all-consuming, followed by disbelief that she was actually giving him the opportunity to apologize for his past actions. He opened his mouth, prepared to wax poetic, but snapped it shut as soon her actions registered.
Disconcerted, he stared, mind blank.
There she was, happily decapitating the head of each rose and shoving the naked stems in the vase.
