Brave Enough(62)

“So you’d have lied to me forever?” I ask, the tiny kernel of hope I’d begun to foster shriveling up inside me.

“Honestly?” he asks, stepping closer to me. “If I thought telling you the truth could cost me you, then yes. I’d have lied to you forever. I didn’t realize until recently that I’d do just about anything to have you in my life. To make you happy. And I knew this would make you hate me.”

I don’t know how he can make the confession of willfully lying to me sound so much like a confession of love, but I’m struggling to retain my anger. My father must see that, too, though. And he takes measure to restore it.

“If you think for one second that your smooth talking will get you out of this, you’re a bigger fool than I thought. You manipulated my daughter. You used her, lied to her and just admitted to having no problem with doing it forever if it suits your purposes. The best thing you can do for yourself is leave her the hell alone. This is going to get ugly enough for you as it is. You can trust me on that.”

Tag is still watching me, his eyes pleading with me, as my father stomps to the door and jerks it open.

“I suggest you do the smart thing and get out of here before I call the police.”

“I’m her husband,” Tag informs in a husky voice. It’s a statement of fact, yes, but it also has a possessive ring to it that stirs something primal in me. It’s as though he’s saying that I’m his and that no one can do a damn thing about it.

The words . . . the tone . . . the look in his eyes . . . Chills spread down my back.

“Not for long,” Dad growls. “Now get out!”

“I’ll need to hear her tell me that, if it’s all the same to you.”

He’s standing so close. His scent is so achingly familiar. There are still parts of me that gravitate toward him, that want to lean in to him like a freezing person might lean in to heat.

But he hurt me. He lied to me. He manipulated me. Those are facts, too. I’m not sure I will ever be able to trust him again. Not after this. No matter how much my heart wants me to.

“You need to go, Tag. It’s for the best. This was a mistake, right from the start.”

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice low. “You can’t mean that.”

“What did you expect, Tag? You lied to me. Right from the beginning. How did you think this would end?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t expect it to end. I didn’t want it to. I know I didn’t tell you on our wedding day, but I thought this would be forever. I . . . I know now that I should’ve told you, but I thought I made that clear in every second that we spent together.” He moves in close, his voice reduced to a breathy whisper that my father would have no hope of hearing. “Every touch,” he says, raising his hand as if to touch my face, only to let it fall away before he does. “Every kiss.” His eyes, his tortured, tortured eyes drop to my lips before they close, as if it’s too painful to look at them. To remember.

“Stop, Tag. I can’t . . . This is just . . . You need to leave.” The tremor in my voice is an almost palpable ripple in the air.

I pray to God that he doesn’t know how hard this is for me, how close I am to just falling back into his arms. I’m on the verge of throwing all caution to the wind—again—and giving in. No matter how bad that would be for me, no matter how deeply I could be hurt. In moments like this, when everything between us is sizzling to the surface and emotions are running high, I think I might give up anything—any amount of future pain and heartache—to be with him for just one more day, just one more night.

I’ve never been happier than when I was in his arms.

But I’ve also never been unhappier after making these recent discoveries.

His eyes open and his expression falls in the subtlest of ways. “I’ll go. For now. But I won’t be far. I won’t ever be far. You’re mine, fair Weatherly. You might not believe that right now, and I’ve done a shitty job of telling you, but I love you and I’m not giving up.”

He places a chaste kiss on my cheek, little more than warm breath and warm lips, before he turns away and strides back across the room.

“This isn’t over,” he tells my father as he passes.

“It was over before it began.”

Tag pauses, stares at my dad for a few seconds and then glances at me over his shoulder. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat and then he’s gone, leaving me arguably more miserable than I was before he came.

—

I never dreamed days could be so long and exhausting. And not in a good way. Not in the way days felt long when I was with Tag, as though we had all the time in the world. Not in the way I felt limp and satisfied after making love with him for an hour, as though my muscles had turned to jelly. No, these days are painful. Agonizing. Humiliating. Never ending.