One More Time - Louisa George Page 0,57
have to stand back and let you put yourself at risk? I’m your...what am I exactly? Your boyfriend? No. Your lover? Your confidant? I don’t think so, because that would involve talking to me about things. You’re clearly not safe to make any kind of rational decisions.’ His face closed in and he stared at her. Then he actually laughed, deflating the tension. ‘Unless it’s to kiss me, of course. In which case I’d say you were very sane indeed.’
She turned her head away. ‘No, Max. Please. Don’t.’
The laugh turned sour. ‘I need to hold you, Gabby. I need to feel you in my arms. We both lost that baby. I know you’re hurting. Hell, I’m hurting too.’
She knew that.
He’d come a long way. He could admit that he hurt. But she was still back in the emotional dark ages.
He hurt. For himself. For her. For what they’d both lost.
Her throat clogged with thick emotion. She’d been thinking purely about herself and not how he felt about losing a baby, too.
What had happened to her? Had she always been so selfish? For so long she’d learnt to keep her emotions tightly locked away. Refused to discuss how she felt. Refused, even, to acknowledge that she felt anything at all. But now it wasn’t just about her, it was about Max, too.
Her hand found his. ‘I’m so sorry, Max. I know you’ll make a great dad one day.’
‘And you’ll be a fabulous mum, somehow. But don’t beat yourself up about it now. We can talk about all that another time. Just work on getting better.’ His arm slid under her back and he pulled her to him. She knew he needed her comfort as much as she needed his. But she couldn’t do this anymore.
‘I can’t hold you, Max. Not now.’ Because if she did, she might never let go. ‘Please, don’t.’
Confusion shimmered in his eyes. ‘When you’re ready, let me know.’
He pulled his arm away but stayed on the bed next to her. A gap of a few inches separated them. Judging by the frustration emanating from him, it might as well have been a mile. An ocean. A continent.
Minutes ticked by. His breathing settled but he wasn’t relaxed, not by a long shot. His thigh muscles remained tight under his jeans, his fists clenched at his sides.
It took all her strength not to reach for him. Eventually he shifted from the bed. ‘I’m going to get some food for you. Don’t you dare move before I get back—I can’t keep chasing you across the city. Besides, I want you strong and well for that dinner next week. I want to show you off.’
She knew he meant well and was trying to give her a focus to distract her. A reason to heal.
Well, she didn’t want one. She didn’t want to be looked at and pitied. And she didn’t want to string him along anymore. She needed to set him free. ‘I’m not going to the dinner.’
‘But you said—’
‘I know what I said. But I have to tell you something.’ She drew in a breath and readied herself for the most painful conversation of her life. ‘I can’t go—’
‘Of course you can.’ He spoke over her. ‘You’ll be fine by then. You need something to look forward to. Is it because you have nothing to wear?’ He’d jumped off the bed and walked across the room towards her closet. ‘Let’s see what you have in here.’
‘No! Max, stop. Listen to me.’ She leaped forward but a sharp sting across her incision scars whipped her breath away.
Before she could stop him he’d opened the closet door. He reeled back. ‘Oh, okay. Wow. You have a lot of shoes. And so neatly stacked. You have OCD, too?’
No. No. No. Everything was unravelling exactly the way she didn’t want.
She wanted to scream. To run. ‘Don’t...touch the boxes.’ Please, don’t. Please, don’t. Please, don’t. ‘Max, come away from there.’
‘Hey, silly. It’s just shoes.’ He picked up box three and examined it. His forehead furrowed as he took in the childish train stickers. The blue balloons. The number three in navy and silver glitter. ‘What are the numbers for? You rating your shoes now, too?’
‘Max—no.’
His hands were opening the lid. Her heart thumped and pounded and rattled. Her shoulders hunched up and squeezed against her neck. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. She closed her eyes. Opened them again to see the nightmare had become a reality.
He would ask. She would have to tell him. It would be