The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,681

day before that, I came back from a run and he was there, waiting for me. He doubled his offer. And then he more than doubled that offer. When I still wouldn’t budge, he demanded my key and my phone and had me blacklisted from the building.”

The storm in Love’s honey eyes allays, but only slightly.

“I was going to tell you,” I say. “I wanted to be the one. And it killed me that you thought I went radio silent on you, that you thought I abandoned you like a fucking coward.”

Her eyes snap to the floor and her shoulders shake as she inhales. What I wouldn’t give to take her in my arms …

“Everything blew up in my face.” I slide my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. All they want to do is touch her, her hair, her skin, her lips—and I don’t trust myself. “I think about you every day, Love.” My whisper breaks. “I miss you all the time.”

I miss her greedy hands grabbing on me when I’m trying to brush my teeth in the morning.

I miss the warmth of her body formed against mine under the icy cool sheets of my bed.

I miss her infectious laugh. The dimples above her perfect, peach-shaped ass. I miss the half-moon shaped spray of freckles on her left arm.

Love’s silence is concerning, her icy demeanor evident in the space she maintains between us and her refusal to offer a semblance of sentence, but I can’t be upset with her.

I have no right.

“You still haven’t told me why.” Her eyes search mine as she clears her throat, and her hands are clasped in front of her, knuckles white.

“Because I’m a piece of shit loser.” I half chuckle. She doesn’t. “Listen, Love. I didn’t have some idyllic childhood in some cutesy little town. I didn’t have a mom and dad who gave two shits about me. All I had was my kid sister and whatever relative-of-the-month wanted to take us in.”

She begins to say something, but I stop her.

“I’m not asking for your sympathy,” I continue. “I’m just answering your question. My entire life, I’ve been in survival mode. I’ve always done what I needed to do. And in this case, I needed to take care of my sister and my nieces. Piper was sick. I’d just lost my job. We were all on the verge of being fucking homeless and then I had this rich asshole promising me to answer every prayer I’d ever made if I did him this one little favor …”

Love’s stare moves to her feet.

I wish she’d give me a sign. I wish she’d say something instead of letting me babble on like the pathetic, desperate-to-win-her-back idiot that I am.

“I was in the army,” I say. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell her this. Maybe it’s because it’s a piece of who I am and all I’ve done is give her pieces of who I thought she wanted me to be. “Enlisted after high school graduation. Was a mechanic, but the military life wasn’t for me. After that I taught myself guitar, wrote a few songs, played in bars whenever I could, and I worked a shit ton of dead end jobs until someone lined me up with a plumbing apprenticeship. That’s what I was doing until … recently.”

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t shift her posture. I couldn’t read her if I tried.

“Look, I’ll stop rambling. And I know my word is shit,” I say. “I know you have no reason to believe a single thing I say. But I just want you to know—”

“I have to go,” she says, pushing past me and marching toward the door. Her eyes are glassy, but her expression is cold.

“Wait,” I say as she grabs the door knob.

Love doesn’t wait, and I follow her into the hall where the air is hot and stale and scented like oregano. Nothing about this moment is romantic. It’s not a scene from a movie. It’s real life, and real life can be ugly and suffocating and uncomfortable sometimes.

“Can I ask you one question?” I keep back a few feet, giving her space and trying to respect that she doesn’t want to be here anymore.

Love stops, turning to glance back at me, her eyes examining mine. I wait for her to speak, to say anything at all, but all I hear is a screaming baby from the apartment next door and a man yelling at his wife to