Every Little Thing (Hart's Boardwalk 2)

br />

That didn’t answer my question. “Having an affair with a twenty-two-year-old. Yes, definitely a mistake.”

“She’s twenty-three.”

“Oh, that makes it all okay then!” I yelled, wondering if he’d hit his head on the way over here.

Tom flinched. “I’m sorry, babe. But please believe me when I say it was a mistake. It was stupid. I don’t even know what we were thinking. She loves Rex. I love you. It was so stupid!”

“How many times have you made this stupid, stupid mistake?”

His expression turned wary at my dry question.

“It had definitely happened two nights ago when you pushed me away, right?”

Guilt flooded his eyes.

And in that moment I hated him. I never thought I could feel that toward Tom but I hated him for doing that to me. For being able to do that to me. I could never hurt someone like that. No matter how attracted to someone else I was, I could never betray someone. I didn’t have it in me.

And I hated him for his cavalier treatment of my affection and loyalty.

“Get out,” I said, exhausted. Done. “Just get out. I don’t want you anymore.”

“Ten years, Bailey.” Tom strode toward me and I stood my ground this time, frozen as he clutched my hands and squeezed. “You’re not going to throw away ten years.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t. You did.”

“It was a mistake.”

I wrenched my hands from his grip. “If I hear that one more time! It wasn’t a mistake, Tom. A mistake is a onetime error. This was calculated. This was disloyalty. And I just can’t look at you the same way.” I shook my head and admitted, “And it’s not just your fault. It was mine, too. For sticking it out this long, for giving you the best years of my life, waiting for you to commit, stuck in limbo with you . . . when the truth is I knew all along we weren’t right for each other.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I scoffed.

“Bails, you’re right, I admit it. I’ve found it scary to commit but I’m more scared of losing you. I’ll do it all. I promise. A house. Marriage. Kids.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why do you love me?”

“Because . . .” He stared at me confused. “I do.”

I stared at him, saddened by his response. “Do you know why I loved you, Tom?” He winced at my use of past tense. “Because you made me feel safe. I don’t feel safe anymore.”

Anguish filled Tom’s expression. “Bailey,” he whispered.

I strode to the door and opened it. “I’ll send you your stuff. I’d appreciate it if you returned the favor.”

For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to move, he stood and stared at me so long. However, to my relief, he walked over to me, pulled my key out of his pocket, and lifted my hand to place the key into my palm. He curled my fingers around it and then lifted my fist to his mouth. I let him place a kiss on my knuckles, tears of disappointment and regret pooling in my eyes.

“You deserved better.” The words were thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.”