Page 52 of The Muse
The panic that he’s only coming to end things circles in my chest, threatening to overwhelm, but I fight it back. He could have done that already. And he certainly wouldn't have called if that was his plan. Scott’s been plain with me before; I have to hope there’s more to this conversation. And if he wants to end things simply because I’m a Broderick, perhaps argue with me again, then he’s not the man I thought he was. He doesn’t deserve me if that’s his view.
The thought steels me for what’s coming, although I wish I were more confident. It’s another feeling I’m so alien too. But since Scott, everything’s been new.
The minutes tick past at a torturous rate as if every move around the clock is a struggle for the two hands. My feet pace up and down on the few meters of plush carpet my room affords me, waiting for a knock at the door.
Finally, the sharp knock sounds, and I all but race for the door. Scott’s standing in front of me, a split and bruised lip on show and one mottled, nearly blue cheek. We both pause. My eyes run over him, assessing the rest of the damage, and I’m caught between demanding what happened and throwing myself at him to make sure he’s okay.
The physical relief of seeing him again catches me off guard, and combined with the state of his face, a lump of emotion forms at the base of my throat, impossible for me to ignore, or push past. The sting of tears just makes it worse, so I turn away from him and let him enter the room.
“Are you ok?” I raise my hand to his face, but he stops my fingers in mid-air and waltzes by.
“Thank you for coming,” I croak out.
He doesn't answer, and I pick up a glass from the vanity and use the scant inch of water to dislodge the emotion in my throat. It’s going to be bad enough talking to him. I don’t want to break down before I’ve explained myself.
All of the words that have been dancing through my mind since telling Scott who I am come back in a gush, muddling my thought process. But I have the opportunity now and I have to make him see my side of the story. I must.
“My brother—my family—have no idea about us.”
“Yes, they do. Your brother certainly does.” His eyes flare, and I realise that his bruises and cuts are down to Landon.
“What? How …?”
Scott just gives me a pointed glare that has only one message. I clear my throat and take a breath.
“I mean, they didn’t before I said anything to you. At first, I was angry that you made a fool of me, but then, we had this spark and I couldn’t just leave it alone.” My voice raises with the hope just talking about us ignites.
"I'm glad flirting with the enemy was so entertaining for you.”
“No. No. It wasn't like that. I was nervous about what I was doing. Or rather what I wanted to do. You’ve said it already; our families do not mix. So, I was conflicted. But then, I was so lost at that recital, and all I could do was feel the mounting pressure from everything in my world, and you offered me an escape. And I wanted that. More than anything.”
His brow arches. “Rather than entertaining, I was a convenient distraction. Good to know,” he says, turning away.
My fingers catch his arm, pulling him back to me. “At first, maybe. But that’s before I got to know you. Before you showed me a piece of you, and then I couldn’t stop the path we were on. My feelings were more than a crush, or a distraction. They were real, and I knew that no matter how much I wanted there to be an us, someone was going to get hurt no matter what happened. Our situation wouldn’t just magically resolve.”
“And when, along this journey of self-discovery, did you decide to fill me in on what your brother’s done to my business?” He looks at me expectantly.
“When I knew I … had feelings for you and that I couldn’t keep anything from you, regardless of the risks.”
“Risks?”
“Yeah. Of everyone finding out. Of losing my family. Of losing you. I couldn’t do that to you any longer. You deserved to know. And I couldn’t keep the truth hidden any longer.”
“Well, it’s too late. Your little confession didn’t stop the papers being signed.”
I nod, at a loss as to what to do next.
I can’t believe I’ve said all of that and he’s just stood there as if I’m explaining the finer points of my last ballet. My eyes search his gaze for any flicker of emotion to tell me that he’s anywhere close to what I’m feeling, but there’s nothing. He's just cold. Solidly stood there, yet barely here at all.
“We should get out of here,” he suddenly says.
“What?”
“I don’t want to be stuck in a room. Come on.” He grabs my wrist and all but hauls me from the room.
“Scott, wait. Where are we going?” I swipe up my phone and bag as we pass the bed and leave the room.
“Mine. I need a drink.”
