Always You (Adair Family 3)

“No, I actually don’t know what you mean because I can’t encapsulate the life-changing trials of our entire relationship into something as demeaning as ‘our shit.’”

Mac took a breath and stared deep into my eyes. “Don’t. Don’t warp what I’m saying now to suit how you want to see the situation between us.”

“I want to see?” My God, did he want me to kill him? “No, what happened between us isn’t how I want to see it, believe me. If I could erase that entire night from my memory, I would, and unfortunately for you, Mac, it happened the way it happened. End of story.”

“Not end of story,” he said with far too much calm, patience, and far too much dejection in his countenance.

And something in me broke.

“I know what I did that night was wrong,” I whispered harshly. “But I don’t know why it was wrong. I keep going over and over it in my mind.” My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my mouth, trying to find the words.

Mac’s anguished expression only angered me.

“Did I read too much into every moment between us? Was it all in my head? Did I assault you?”

Shock flared in his eyes and he stepped toward me. “No, Arro. Fuck, no.”

“Then why?” I tried to pierce his gaze so I could finally understand what the hell was going on in this man’s head. “Why did you reject me like I was a stranger to you? You couldn’t have humiliated me more. Why?” I suddenly raged, everything swelling up and out of me as I shrieked, “Tell me why!”

“Because I was in fucking pain!” Mac roared.

I flinched back, shocked into silence.

He took a shuddering breath. “You were hurting me, Arro, and I just needed you to leave.”

“Hurting you?”

A hard darkness shadowed Mac’s face. I’d seen that brooding look before, but rarely. Until that moment, I’d never understood what put that look on his face, but as he spoke, I began to understand. “You can’t see what I am,” he said hoarsely, “but I know what I am, Arrochar. Maybe there isn’t a man out there worthy of you, but I know …”

Mac drew closer until I had to tilt my head to keep his gaze. “I know for a fact that it isn’t me. Lachlan would probably get over it if you and I claimed each other, but it wouldn’t take you or him long to realize I’m not who you think I am. I’d disappoint you. And then I’d lose you both. Something I can’t risk. And you coming to my home, pushing me, offering me the thing I want most and can’t have … it killed me.”

His eyes were bright with emotion, and it was physically painful to witness. “It hurt finding the strength to say no. It hurts keeping my distance from you in that way. But it’s better than you despising me.”

I shook my head, confused. “And you thought humiliating me would, what? Endear me to you?”

“Arro—”

“I’m not some cold icon of feminine perfection, Mac!” Somehow his confession was worse, the bold truth worse. “I’m real! I’m flesh and blood.” I pounded my chest. “I’m flawed and brutal and weak and strong and sorry and fucked-up like every other person who’s spent more than two seconds on this bloody planet!” Tears streamed down my face before I could stop them as my voice dropped to a near whisper. “I deserve more from you. I deserve more than to be put on some lonely, god-awful pedestal, to be used as an object for your self-flagellation and repentance for God knows what in your past. When someone tells you they love you, you don’t get to say, ‘I don’t deserve your love,’ and think that somehow exempts you from the consequences of rejecting them. You’re not exempt, Mac. No matter your reasons, you rejected me like I was nothing and nobody to you, and you spit in the face of my love and did it in a way that made me feel small. Wrong and guilty.” I ignored the horrified devastation on his face and whispered, “You hurt me to save you.”

“Arro …” A tear slipped down his cheek, and it almost broke me, but I couldn’t let it soften my determination to face the truth between us.

An exhausting grief swept over me as I stared at this man I’d loved but no longer trusted, at least in the way I had before. “So I suppose you’re right … you don’t deserve me because everyone deserves someone who loves them through everything. Through anything. And maybe it’s an impossible wish, but I want to be loved by someone who would die before deliberately hurting me.”

“It wasn’t deliberate,” Mac argued, a little of that fire, that fight, returning to him. “I did it to protect you. It was the wrong move. I was wrong, Arro. I admit it. I made a mistake. But it wasn’t deliberate.”

“Too little, too late.” I swiped at the tear tracks on my cheeks because tears were of little use to me. To either of us. The pain of knowing why he’d hurt me didn’t change the truth.

“I don’t believe that,” Mac said, just as we heard a car pulling up outside. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Don’t.” My expression softened a little. “It’s too late for us. But not for you. Don’t keep making this mistake, Mac. Whatever is eating you, whatever is poisoning your mind, go talk to someone so that the next time a woman tells you she’s in love with you, you can say it back.” Even then, in all my conviction, the very thought of him with another woman made me die inside.

Mac shook his head slowly and answered with a quietness that haunted me. “Unless that woman is you, I’ll never say it back.”

Before I could scramble to find the words to address what was an inadvertent declaration of love, Mac’s gaze moved beyond my shoulders, and he sighed. “Marcello’s here.”

He straightened and like he hadn’t just set off an emotional bomb between us, said, “I’m going back to the estate to talk with your brother, and then I’ll return. Until we figure this out”—he gestured with the bag of Post-its—“I am your shadow from the moment you leave the house until the moment you get home and lock the door behind you. I’ll work out a system with the team so someone is watching your house at night. No arguments, Arro. This is happening. I’ll be back soon.”

And before I could protest, he stormed out as Marcello walked in.