Page 97 of Fierce

“Don’t know how you can say that.” His lips were barely moving, because he’d wrapped himself even more tightly under control. Because he felt something and didn’t want to, or because he didn’t want to deal with my emotions, didn’t want the drama. It didn’t matter which. The result was exactly the same. “I’ve tried,” he said. “I’ve done as much as I can.”

“Hemi,” I tried to explain. “I’m not blaming you. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. Or it’s neither. It just is. It’s that I’m going to keep falling in love with you. I can’t help myself, because you’re...you’re what I want. You’re kind, and strong, and sweet, and fierce, and—and I can’t even say what. You’re what I want, and I can’t stop wanting it. And then I’m going to hear you say things like that, things that I already knew were true, and they’re going to keep hurting. All the more because I do already know them, because it’s the same thing again and again, but it hurts the same way again and again, too. And there are no shoes, and no roses, and no trips to wonderful places that can make up for that.”

“And that’s it.” His face wasn’t looking impassive anymore. I was pretty sure he was getting angry again, and suddenly, I was so tired.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s it. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s a mismatch. You need to find somebody who wants what you want, and maybe sometime I will, too. Maybe so.”

I didn’t believe it, but I also knew that things were never as bad as they felt at the time. At least I hoped they weren’t, because this felt so bad right now, I’d have said I couldn’t stand it.

Broken hearts didn’t kill a person, though. They just hurt. But then, lots of things hurt.

“Right,” he said. “If that’s how you feel.”

“Yes. It’s how I feel.”

There was silence in the car for long minutes, until I saw the airport sign flash by. The trip home was going to be fairly different from the way I’d imagined it. I couldn’t have handled this a whole lot worse if I’d tried.

“And in yet another example of how I don’t know how to do relationships,” I said, trying to smile, “not only did I say the L-word when I knew you didn’t feel the same way—now I have to fly across the country with you. I should’ve broken up in the car on the way from the airport. I just realized that.”

He didn’t smile. “Probably.”

“I’m guessing you don’t normally do breakups.” Somehow, I still wanted to talk to him. Some part of my stupid heart still wanted to connect, to pretend we were friends, to make this all right. “Because you don’t do relationships. I’m guessing they get a message from Josh instead.”

I got another quick glance across the car for that, and I sighed. “Yeah. Right. Well, you live and learn, I guess. But next time, when she slaps you? Don’t give her the shoes. Let her go.”

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