My head pounds, tight and sluggish from trying to decipher what he's really saying.
"If you think you're protecting me, you're not." I take a stab in the dark at what might be prompting him to do this. The only thing that makes sense is that he's doing this for my safety. He must be in danger, and I might be, too.
"Listen to me, I have to end the call, but before I do … " His tone is harsh, lifeless, cold, one I've never heard before. This is Evan the Soldier. I only know of this man's existence, but I've never met him. "You and I are over. Do not wait for me. I'm moving on."
"No, you're not." I'm emphatic and frantic, knowing that a man who has never slept with another person but me would not just walk away. "You love me!"
Tears stream down my face, and my hands tremble, as my insides threaten to burst out of my chest.
"No. I will move on. I will find someone else," he grinds out, and if it wasn't for the slight hitch at the end, the wobble in his voice, my heart would have broken. That infinitesimal chink in his armor gives me hope. Perhaps it's senseless and delusional, but it's something, a chance to stop this insanity.
"You're not protecting me," I sob. "You're hurting me. Evan, you're not alone."
Before I can say any more, he hangs up. The crack of my heart can be heard above the jarring dial tone, the pain ripping through me.
Closing my eyes, my knees crumple, my heaves multiply, and I collapse on the floor in a fit of agony and disbelief. I want to call him back, find him and make him say it to my face. I want to turn back time and never have answered the phone.
"Sweetness." Evan's smooth, silky voice breaks through the reliving of my nightmare.
As I gaze into his deep, tender eyes, the need to cry is overwhelming. I can barely look at him. I need to get away, need to put both real and proverbial distance between us, despite having spent the past couple of years yearning for the exact opposite.
I had only one wish, one thought-to be near him-and now, that's the last thing on my mind. He needs to understand that I did exactly what he asked, what he demanded of me. I moved on.
"Oh, I've got something for you." I shift topics to something that will reinforce our separate lives.
His eyebrows arch, his interest piqued as I quickly run through the door toward the office. Returning, I plunk down the offending keys to his townhouse in front of him.
"Here, take back your place."
"What? No. It's yours. I gave it to you."
"I don't want it." I cross my arms and stare intently at him.
"Sweetness … "
"No, Evan." I relent and use his name, hoping it'll soften his position. "Please take them. I'm not living there. I haven't since the day you left."
///
"I know."
His response is a red flag, another question to add to my already long list. How does he know I didn't live there? Was I being watched while he was gone?
Anything is possible with him. He's told me little about his time in the Army, but I've gathered enough to know he was among the military's crème de la crème. He most certainly encountered the enemy, even in parts of the world where we're not at war.
He's a highly-skilled soldier, and he has the means and the know-how to do pretty much anything. He likely did have me under surveillance. The thought angers me, but it also warms my heart because it proves that he, just like me, couldn't walk away.
"How?"
My impulsive question is futile because knowing won't change anything. He may have cared and was probably lying when he said he no longer did, for whatever reason. But the fact remains, he left me.
He can't just waltz back into my life and expect to pick up where we left off. Sorry, dude, that shit doesn't fly with me. I have a life without him.
"You know what? Don't tell me. I really don't care."
Feeling my grip on the situation slipping, I leave the bar, even with Evan calling after me. I can't stay, even though I have so many questions. Not right now.
Nabbing one of the servers in the kitchen, I ask them to cover for me and slip out the back.
Of course, my getaway isn't clean. Ma is walking toward me, shopping bags in hand. There's a side entrance in the alley that leads directly to her apartment.
"Love, leaving already?" There's a slight lilt of an Irish accent in Ma's voice, even after all these years stateside.
"Yes, I've got errands to run. Someone's birthday is coming up and I've got things to do for the party," I joke.
It's her birthday that's approaching and while it isn't a big one, we always throw a party. It's the one day-besides the obligatory Mother's Day-that she lets us do something special for her.