Taking What's His(56)

He flinched. “Okay.”

They headed for the parking lot, not speaking. He’d give anything to know what she was thinking. What was going through her head. He knew he’d hurt her, but he could make it better. He knew exactly how to make it better, if she’d give him the chance. And he’d never stop making it better until the day he died.

When he started leading her to his truck, she dug her heels in. “I’ll take my car, and you take yours.”

He nodded once, despite the fact that he didn’t want to separate from her for even a minute. He’d been a starved man without her, dying for her smile. Her laugh. Her touch. The last thing he wanted to do was watch her walk away…again.

“All right.”

As he walked her to her car and opened the door for her, she pressed her lips together and slid into the seat. “Thanks.”

Nodding, he walked over to his truck. As he started it, he took a deep breath and stared at himself in the mirror. His reflection watched him judgmentally, narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he murmured. “You’re as much of a screw-up as I am.”

Shaking his head, he reversed and led the way back to his apartment, checking the rearview mirror every so often. Lydia followed him, her face impassive and pretty damn pissed off, as she should be. He’d acted as if she didn’t matter to him, when she did. That had been wrong, and he knew it now. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. But he could fix it.

He had to.





Chapter Eighteen

Lydia pulled into Holt’s driveway, her fingers tight on the steering wheel. The whole afternoon had been warped and twisted and confusing as heck. One second she’d been running from Holt, not wanting to see him or hear his voice at all. And the next, he’d been kissing her and begging for a chance to explain himself.

She didn’t know how she felt about that yet. Or about him. Or her. Or anything, really, because her thoughts were all mixed up. And so were her feelings.

Those were a mixture of dread and anger. And hurt, too, because if he’d truly tried to break it off with her so she could be free, then that pissed her off. She was done with men telling her what was best for her. She got enough of that from Steven.

He came up to her door and tugged on it. It was locked, so of course it didn’t open. When she didn’t move, or unlock it, he stared at her through the glass, his somber blue eyes silently asking her to open up. She still didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her heartbeat thudded in her head, echoing, and she adjusted her grip on the wheel.

If she let him in…he’d just hurt her all over again.

She’d barely made it through intact last time.

“Lyd…” He tugged on the handle a little harder. “Open the door.”

She knew what was going to happen if she did. If she went into his house and let him talk to her, she’d forgive him even though he didn’t really deserve it. He was never going to love her like she would love him. He’d told her as much, had told her that he was only going to stay with her until the urge had passed…

Which he’d said had happened.

So why was she going to put herself through this pain again, in a day or two? A week, if she was lucky. What was the point? Eventually, he’d be ready to move on for real. And she’d be left hurting another time. She shook her head and reached for the shifter with a trembling hand.

He paled and placed his hands on her window. “Wait! Don’t go.”

“I-I can’t do this.” She shifted into reverse. “I’m sorry.”

And then she reversed, leaving him standing alone in his driveway, wearing a navy blue suit, his glasses, and a devastatingly sad look in his eyes.

And her heart broke a second time.

The whole way back to her apartment, her heart raced at full speed. She’d done it. She’d fallen in love with a guy who’d flat out told her he would never love her back. What was wrong with her? She parked in her spot and rested her head on her steering wheel. “Idiot, idiot, idiot.”

A knock sounded on her window. She jumped and lifted her head, half expecting it to be Holt. But it wasn’t. It was Steven. Of course it was.

Sighing, she shut her car off and got out. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What happened?” He stepped up next to her, his hands curled into fists. “What did he say? What did he do?”

“He didn’t say or do anything.” She shut her door and gripped her purse strap tight. “I didn’t even give him a chance to say anything. I just… I left.”

“Why? He obviously cares—”

She blew out a breath. “No offense, but you know nothing about what he feels. Or in this case, doesn’t feel.”