He made the words sound like they could have come from the end of a phone sex line—you know, if women were actually desperate enough to call such lines. Though, if women in general, and I in particular, knew that Keltan was at the other end of that call, I might just pay by the minute.
Or run a mile.
“Rosie, don’t you dare go to that party without me,” I ordered.
Something in my tone, something only my best friend might have been able to catch, gave her pause.
The smile left. A sliver of the sadness of those years ago surfaced. “Lucy,” she began.
“I’ll be two minutes. See you in the car,” I said firmly.
Rosie, never one to be ordered around, complied.
Not before giving Keltan a sad wink.
I focused on him, crossing my arms.
His jaw was hard.
“You do not get to do this,” I informed him. “Flit in and out of my life as you so desire. Demanding my attention like it’s your right.”
He stepped forward but didn’t touch me. “Your attention isn’t a right. It’s a privilege. One I want to earn. One I’ve been trying to think of ways to earn while protecting assholes and actors in L.A.,” he said. “Right now, I want to apologize. For the shit that went down after the shooting. To give you an explanation.” He glanced to the curb. “But it’s gonna take longer than two minutes, Snow.”
I didn’t flinch at the name. Not outwardly at least. “No. I don’t need it. What I need is for you to leave.”
His jaw hardened. “What we have—”
“What we had,” I interrupted, “were moments. Merely a handful. Not enough to fill a suitcase and certainly not enough to fill up a heart,” I lied. “Not enough to build on this fantasy.”
He stepped forward, grasping my jaw in his hands, not painfully but roughly enough to get my attention. As if his piercing stare and rippling waves of emotion that came with it weren’t enough to stop me.
“What we have,” he growled, “is everything. We had a thousand fuckin’ moments, babe. Sure as shit more than some people get in a lifetime. I’m a lucky bastard for having those at all.” His grip tightened, and his eyes glittered, like chocolate diamonds.
Two of my favorite things.
Encased in my one favorite thing of all.
Not that I was willing to admit that and say goodbye to… well, me.
I was too selfish for that.
Or perhaps cowardly.
Because Gray.
“Yeah, well, those are all you can have,” I said, hating my voice, my words, the fucking universe. “Because you once told me that I was broken. Too broken for you to fix. And that you were broken too.” My eyes didn’t waver from his. “I see it. What you saw in me. And I want to fix it too. But I can’t. Because I can’t fix me, and I’m not going to let our broken pieces cut each other anymore. So, I’m asking you. Politely. Leave. Before you make me bleed.”
His entire body was still. But unnaturally so. Horribly so. Because his eyes were a storm. And for a long moment I didn’t think he’d move.
But then he did.
And it cut me all the same.
But his staying would have cut me worse.
Or I hoped so. Otherwise, I’d fucked it up for the umpteenth time.
Then he turned. “This is me doing what you asked, Snow,” he rasped. “This is not me leaving. You’re gonna have to do much better than that to see the last of me,” he promised.
And on that, he left.
I watched him leave.
Then I got in the car with Rosie, who, for once, sensed the need for nothing.
No words. No questions. No jokes. Nothing.
Which was what I needed.
Or all I had left.
Four Months Later
From: [email protected]
Subject: Explanations
So, you’re not replying to my other e-mails. Or calls. And I know you won’t see me. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been in my truck at least a dozen times these past few months, planning on doing it. Finding a way through to you. Without cutting you. I don’t give a shit about any scratches. I’ve got more than enough scars, and ones from trying to get you, I’ll wear with pride. Especially if they mean I get you.
Even if I don’t, I owe you this.
Because what happened in that bathroom, not giving you the why, it’s not in my nature.
I’m not big on words—a kiwi thing, maybe. Or just a guy thing. And our words in person haven’t been successful thus far. But these have. So, I’ll try.
First, I need to tell you that I thought being in battle, in wars, would be glorious. Somehow noble. I was a small-town kid from a country at the end of the world. Naïve. And I didn’t think I’d ever see battle. New Zealand soldiers are mainly made for peacekeeping.