Page 70 of Love Me Sweet

“No.” She met his gaze. “I’m not going back to Boston with you, Andrew. I can’t watch you lose yourself, give up your passion for medicine as a way of atoning for your brother’s death.”

He’d stepped forward but stopped a foot from her. She might look small and vulnerable in his shirt, but her eyes, as well as her tongue, were razor sharp.

“I care about you too much.” She closed her eyes and, for the first time, he noticed the tears shimmering on the edges of her lashes.

“If you cared about me, you’d come with me.” It was as close to begging as he’d ever come with anyone. “Please, Sylvie, come with me. Make a life with me in Boston.”

“You giving up your dream for someone else’s would only tear us apart.”

“You’re still running scared, aren’t you?” His humorless laugh sounded harsh even to his own ears. “You can’t, you won’t, make a commitment because you’re scared it won’t work.”

“That’s not it,” she protested. “It’s—”

“You’re a coward.”

Her spine stiffened even as her eyes turned dark as midnight. “You won’t stand up to your father. You won’t make him understand how important medicine is to you. You won’t fight for your sister when you know it’s the right thing to do. Who’s the coward, Andrew?”

“You think you know me so well. You think you know what I want?” He ground out the words. “You don’t know anything.”

Without another word he brushed past her and headed down the hall. Pulling his suitcase from the closet, he dumped the contents from the drawers into it and snapped it shut.

“What are you doing?”

It was a silly question.

“I have a plane to catch. I’ll have someone come in and clean up the house so don’t worry about it.”

“Andrew.”

The soft sound of his name on her lips had him turning, had hope rising inside him.

“Don’t go.”

The hope deflated like an untied balloon. “I have obligations.”

She gave a brisk nod.

“There’s a birthday present for you in the extra bedroom.” He caught the scent of French perfume when he strode past her.

Riding on temper, he didn’t slow his pace until he was behind the wheel of the car. As he pulled out of the driveway it struck him that this time, he was the one leaving, not her.

* * *

The rest of the day, the day they were supposed to spend together, Sylvie held out hope that Andrew would come back. She kept busy cleaning the house, but resisted the impulse to pack up her things until the light in the sky dissolved into darkness.

She packed her belongings and was already in Ethel and ready to pull out of the driveway when she remembered Andrew’s parting words. He’d left a present for her in the extra bedroom, the one they’d kept closed off.

For a second, Sylvie thought about leaving the gift behind, but that was only angry thinking. Reluctantly, she went back inside the house that held so many good memories.

The present was large and covered in brown paper. She looked at it for a long moment then carefully unwrapped it.

The painting of the fox, the one standing on the boulder looking over his shoulder, stared back at her.

“Aren’t you coming after me?”

Sylvie closed her eyes. Her heart swelled, pressing against her lungs, causing her breath to come short and shallow. Tears filled her eyes until the image of the red fox blurred.

Aren’t you coming after me?

It was the same way Andrew had looked at her, with such hope and longing. The way he’d looked at her before those soft grey eyes had turned to steel.

“No,” she whispered, though there was no one in the house to hear. “I won’t. I can’t come with you.”

As the trickle of tears became a stream, Sylvie cried for what could have been and what now would never be.

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