Strong Enough

Same reason you didn’t, asshole. He’s scared.

Groaning, I flopped back on the bed and threw an arm over my eyes. I was a selfish prick. I wanted to hear him say it. I needed to hear him say it. I was sick and that was the cure. If I could just hear him admit he felt the way I did, then I wasn’t alone.

I took my phone from my pocket.

Stop it, you self-serving fuck.

I didn’t. I texted him. I miss you already. Call me?

Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then twenty.

I frowned. But he was at work, right? Maybe he hadn’t seen my message yet.

I went downstairs and ate leftovers for dinner without tasting anything. I loosened my tie. I poured some whiskey.

An hour passed. Then another.

He had to have seen it by then! Was he ignoring me? How could he! If he loved me, he’d at least respond to my text.

Maybe he didn’t have his phone. That had to be it. He didn’t have his phone and he was as miserable as I was, thinking I didn’t care about him. I had to fix it.

I left my glass of whiskey half-finished on the counter, raced upstairs to grab the notebook, and jumped into my car.

I parked in the garage down the street and rushed down the sidewalk to the bar, then burst through the door like an angry cowboy in an old western. I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care.

Ellen saw me right away and came over, her face concerned. “Hey. You okay?”

“Where’s Maxim? I need to see him.”

“I think he’s in the basement pulling some liquor. You know where it is?”

“I’ll find it.” I took off, leaving her blinking after me and probably totally confused, but I didn’t stop. Through the kitchen. Down the stairs. Around the corner.

He was alone among the shelves, squinting at a list in the dim light.

I went at him hard, backing him against the brick wall, crushing my mouth against his, wanting to say what I came here to say but terrified to end the kiss, because what if it was the last one I ever got?

Finally he pushed me away. “Derek, what the hell? You can’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m in love with you.”

“What?”

“I’m in love with you. And you’re in love with me.” I held up the notebook.

His eyes went wide. “You read my notebook?”

Fuck. “Just the last page,” I said, squirming. “And

I’m sorry, okay? I know it was wrong, and I’m sorry, but—I had to know how you felt.”

He grabbed the notebook from me. “You knew how I felt. I told you last night.”

“You didn’t tell me you loved me.” My heart was racing so hard. “Do you?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“Yes!” I yelled, although I wasn’t at all sure I meant it.