Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I close my eyes and try to sort out the mess of thoughts going through my head. “I don’t know.”
“Well I do,” she says matter-of-factly, as though she didn’t just drop the L-word up in here and destroy every good thing we had going on. “We need some space.”
“I don’t want some damned space!” I shout, opening my eyes again. “I want . . . I want . . .”
“What?” she says.
You.
I try to tell her out loud, but the words don’t come. It’s as though they’re buried deep, lodged in my throat.
“I want things back the way they were,” I say instead, hating the pleading note in my voice but unable to hold it back.
She says nothing.
I’m losing her. I know I’m losing her, and yet the only way of keeping her is to take that idiotic plunge, to go over the edge with her, and risk everything.
I won’t do it. She matters too much.
“Sabrina,” I say quietly, closing the distance between us. “You know I care about you . . .”
Her face twists. “Don’t. Please don’t do that.”
I clench my fists in impatience. “Don’t what, speak the truth?”
“Not if the truth involves some sort of placating but. You care about me, but. You want to keep sleeping with me, but. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I want what we have without the buts. I want what Ian and Lara have. What I suspect The Sams have. I want someone to be with me not just because it’s convenient and we’re well suited but because he can’t stand the thought of not being with me.”
I swallow, thinking of my parents. Thinking of how they made all those promises to each other, how they were supposedly once like Ian and Lara, but none of it lasted.
I think of how they are now. Indifferent to each other.
I won’t do that to Sabrina. I won’t do that to us.
But neither can I bear to see her unhappy. If this is what she needs . . .
I reach out and gently cup her face, my thumbs drifting over her cheeks. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want,” I say quietly. “But if you want to chase the fairy-tale ending, I won’t stand in your way.”
Her face crumples for a moment, but she recovers almost immediately, giving a quick nod. “Thank you. I still need some space, though, Matt. I can’t fall in love with someone else as long as I’m in love with you.”
I feel her words like a knife in my chest.
But I nod, knowing what she means. No more casual sex when it suits us. No more verbal foreplay disguised as arguments. And for me, no fellow realist—no more safety in Sabrina’s shared knowledge that love destroys relationships, not fosters it.
“Still friends?” she says, sounding more vulnerable than I’ve ever heard her.
My gut clenches at the word, somehow both vitally important and not nearly enough. “Of course,” I whisper, setting my forehead to hers. “Of course.”
Our arms slowly find their way around each other, and there’s a desperation to the goodbye hug—not forever, not for good, but goodbye to the way we were. The way we’ve become.
I press a lingering kiss to her temple. “Be happy.”
I hear her swallow, then she nods.
I pull back, intending to give her my standard cocky smile, but I can’t summon it forth. Not when I see the unshed tears in her eyes.
Her hands drop from my waist, and I release her with a backward step.
I walk to her front door, knowing she won’t stop me. She wants love. I want her to have it.
And I wish like hell I had it in me to give it.
30
SABRINA
Monday Lunch, October 16
“So, are we going to talk about it, or are you going to keep pretending everything’s cool?”
I look at Ian over my Diet Coke. “You mandated this meeting. You have something say, say it.”
It’s Monday afternoon, a little more than a week since Matt basically proposed marriage.
Sans love.
I’m trying really hard not to think about it. Or him.
But Ian’s making it difficult. Because as much as I know that he’s my best friend and loves me like a sister, he also loves Matt like a brother.
It’s hard to share a meal with this man without thinking of the man.
Ian pushes aside his plate and, crossing both arms on the table, studies me with his piercing blue eyes. I can’t help but compare them to another pair of blue eyes. Ian’s are ice-blue, slightly almond-shaped. Matt’s eyes are dark blue, the ocean on a sunny day, wide and bright and . . .
I suck in a sharp intake of breath as the pain hits. Again. I know it’ll pass. Eventually.
But damn, this sucks.
Damn, it had hurt to stand there and put my heart out there, knowing he didn’t feel the same, and have him all but shake my hand and wish me well.