‘Cara—’ He tried to protest, moving towards her, but it was useless. He had nothing left to say.
There was no way to make this better.
‘Okay,’ he said quietly.
He watched her grab her wash kit from her bag, his gut twisting with unease.
Turning back, she gave him a jerky nod and then, staring resolutely ahead, went to stride past him to the bathroom.
Acting on pure impulse, he put out a hand to stop her, wrapping his fingers around her arm to prevent her from going any further. He could feel her shaking under his grip and he rubbed her arm gently, trying to imbue how sorry he was through the power of his touch.
She put her hand over his and for a second he thought she was going to squeeze his hand with understanding, but instead she pulled his fingers away from her arm and, without giving him another look, walked away.
* * *
Cara waited until Max’s car had pulled away from the train station before sinking onto the bench next to the ticket office and putting her head in her hands, finally letting the tears stream down her face.
She’d spent the whole car journey there—which had only taken about ten minutes but had felt like ten painful hours—holding her head high and fighting back the hot pressure in her throat and behind her eyes.
They hadn’t uttered one word to each other since he’d started the engine and she was grateful for that, because she knew if she’d had to speak there was no way she’d be able to hold it together.
It seemed they’d come full circle, with him withdrawing so far into himself he might as well have been a machine and her not wanting to show him any weakness.
What a mess.
And she’d told him she loved him.
Her chest cramped hard at the memory. When the words left her mouth, she hadn’t known what sort of reaction to expect; in fact she hadn’t even known she was going to say them until they’d rolled off her tongue, but she was still shocked by the flare of anger she’d seen in his eyes.
He’d thought she was trying to manipulate him, when that had been the last thing on her mind at the time. She’d wanted him to know he was loved and there could be a future for them if he wanted it.
Thinking about it now, though, she realised she had been trying to shock him into action. To reach something deep inside him that he’d been fiercely protecting ever since Jemima had died. It wasn’t surprising he’d reacted the way he had, though. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing a spouse, but she understood the pain of losing someone you loved in the blink of an eye or, in this case, in the time it took to say three small words.
Fury and frustration swirled in her gut, her empty stomach on the edge of nausea. How could she have let herself fall for a man who was still grieving for his wife and had no space left in his heart for her?
Clearly she was a glutton for punishment. And, because of that, she’d now not only lost her heart, she’d lost her home and her job, as well.
* * *
Back in London three hours later, she let herself wearily into Max’s house, her nerves prickling at the thought of him being there.
Part of her wanted to see him—some mad voice in the back of her head had been whispering about him changing his mind after having time to reflect on what she’d said—but the other, sane part told her she was being naïve.
Walking into the kitchen, she saw that a note had been left in the middle of the table with her name written on it in Max’s neat handwriting.
Picking it up with a trembling hand, she read the words, her stomach twisting with pain and her sight blurring with tears as she took in the news that he’d gone to Ireland a couple of days early for his meeting there, to give them a bit of space.
He wasn’t interested in giving them another chance.
It was over.
Slumping into the nearest chair, she willed herself not to cry again. There was no point; she wasn’t going to solve anything by sitting here feeling sorry for herself.
She had to look after herself now.
Her life had no foundations any more; it was listing at a dangerous angle and at some point in the near future it could crash to the ground if she didn’t do something drastic to shore it up.
She’d so wanted to belong here with him, but this house wasn’t her home and Max wasn’t her husband.
His heart belonged to someone else.
She hated the fact she was jealous of a ghost, and not just because Jemima had been beautiful and talented, but because Max loved her with a fierceness she could barely comprehend.
How could she ever compete with that?
The stone-cold truth was: she couldn’t.
And she couldn’t stay here a moment longer either.
* * *
After carefully folding her clothes into her suitcase, she phoned Sarah to ask whether she could sleep on her couch again, just until she’d moved into the flat that Amber’s cousin had promised to let to her.