Imagine that.
So instead, he’d told her he didn’t want to be with her, knowing it was the only way to get her to leave, with no regrets, for her fresh start—something he wanted her so desperately to have. She’d wanted this for so long, had fought to find it, and he refused to be the reason she didn’t get it. Refused to be the anchor dragging her down to the bottom of the ocean as she tried to swim to the top.
The elevator doors opened, and he lifted his head.
His eyes locked on hers within seconds, and his heart twisted inside his chest, making it impossible to breathe. She stood there, a box in her hands, her brown hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail, her brown eyes shadowed by browns and grays that hinted she hadn’t been sleeping well.
He hadn’t been, either.
Fuck, he missed her.
He loved her.
He had to let her go
.
She looked so beautiful, standing there, looking exhausted. She didn’t have a scrap of makeup on, and her hair was frizzing out in places. She wore a pair of short gym shorts and a loose T-shirt that said something about cats on it. Her chipped red-nail-polished fingers clung to the box, her knuckles white and her cheeks flushed with exertion.
Rushing forward, he spoke without thinking. “Here. Let me carry that for you.”
“No.” She stumbled back, almost falling. “I’ve got it.”
“Okay.” He forced himself to stand still. To do nothing. Clearly, she didn’t want his help. He didn’t blame her. Slowly, he stepped to the side and extended his arm, making sure the doors didn’t close on her. “After you, then.”
She didn’t move.
Instead, she stared at the elevator like it was alive and about to attack her. Or maybe she stared at him like that. Either way, he didn’t like it. “Shel—”
“You know what? I’m just going to bring this back in. I don’t need…don’t need…” Cutting herself off, she turned around and headed right back where she came from. She tripped over her own feet because she was hurrying, and almost hit the floor. The box hit the carpet with a thud, and she managed to catch herself before she followed suit. “Come on.”
He told himself not to do it.
Not to chase after her.
Not to help her.
“Shelby, wait.” He walked over to her, bending down and easily lifting the box she’d struggled with. “Let me carry it for you. Please.”
She grabbed it and yanked. “No.”
He didn’t let go.
She pulled harder, her cheeks turning red and her eyes narrowing with a ferocity that was as enchanting as it was heartbreaking. “I don’t want or need your help, Eric. Give me the stupid box.”
He flexed his jaw. “I will…once I’m inside your apartment.”
Without another word, he headed for her door. She could follow him or not, but either way, this damn box was going in her place. It was bad enough she’d rather run back to her apartment than go into an elevator he’d just been inside of, but he’d be damned if he stood by and watched her struggle for one second because of him.
Elbowing her door open, he set the box down on a bigger one that was taped shut and labeled Kitchen. He stared at the spot where he’d set her on the counter to make love to her and had instead broken her heart…and his own.
It was empty.
All that was left in the room were a few stacks of boxes.
A mover came out of her bedroom, pushing her dresser on a cart. When the man saw him, he nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Jefferson. All ready for your move to Texas?”
He assumed Eric was Shelby’s husband.