Worth It (Forbidden Men #6)(116)

“I don’t care. Good or bad, it’s a part of you. And you’re a part of me. I had to know.”

His shoulders slumped as defeat crossed his features. Falling to his knees on the floor across the room from me, he withered. I thought he was going to cry, too, but he only gritted his teeth until his face went purplish red.

“Don’t you get it?” he rasped. “This is exactly why I’ve been pushing you away since I got out. Because you’re not a part of me any longer. Hell, I’m not even a part of me. I’m just some wasted shell of space who won’t stop breathing. And I can do nothing but hurt you. There’s this stain on me. I’ll never get it out. It takes control and I just get...I get so f*cking mad. I want to destroy everything around me. I thought maybe I could tame it, but no. Christ, just look what I’ve done.” He motioned to the dent in the wall. “I’ll never be the Knox either of us knew. And we both have to deal with the fact that he’s gone. For good.”

“No.” I shook my head. “That doesn’t have to be the case. You might have grown and changed, but, Knox—” When I started to stand and reach for him, he lifted his hand and shouted, “He’s dead, goddamn it. That Knox is dead!”

Alarmed by the outburst, I slapped my rump back on the couch.

After taking a moment to control my shuddery breaths, I nodded. “Well...at least now I know why you have continued to push me away, and I don’t blame you at all. You never would’ve had to go through any of that if you’d never gotten mixed up with me. I would hate me right now if I were you, too.”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he growled from between clenched teeth, “I never hated you. I never blamed you. If anything, it was the memory of you that helped me survive the worst times.”

My heart sang as I pressed my hands against the swelling hope in my chest. “Well, you don’t need a memory anymore, Knox. I’m here, in the flesh, and I’m more than willing to keep helping you through this.”

But he shook his head. “No way. My head is too f*cked up. I don’t want you to have to—”

“I don’t care what’s in your head, damn it.” My voice rose with my frustration. “We have the rest of our lives to deal with that. It’s what’s in your heart that concerns me. And I know you still have feelings for me. Why do you keep fighting that?”

“Because it’s what’s in my fists that concerns me,” he roared, raising his balled hands to show me how his knuckles had cracked open and bled after hitting the wall. “Just one swing of these things, City, and I could kill you.”

I rose to my feet, and something in my calm, self-assured expression made uncertainty flicker in his eyes. He lurched to his feet as well.

With my first step forward, he took one in reverse. “What’re you doing?”

I shook my head, not even sure myself. “You’re not swinging your fists now,” I said.

He skidded backward some more, lifting his hands to ward me off. “Don’t f*cking touch me,” he snapped, desperation making his brown eyes wild and glassy.

His intimidation tactic worked. I jerked to a stop, sucking in a surprised breath. Then I let out a growl at my own stupidity because I knew—I knew—he wouldn’t have hurt me if I’d ignored his request, if I’d just reached out and smoothed my fingers over his cheek.

It felt as if I was in the worst predicament of my life, and I’d just lost my one chance to do the right thing. Now I had no idea what to do. I was torn between wringing his neck for being so stubborn and hugging the hell out of him because he’d gone through hell. Except I’d blown my opportunity to touch him.

So I just stood there like an idiot and started to cry again.

He let out a pained sound and squeezed his eyes closed. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“Stop what?” I hiccupped. “Stop crying?”

“Yes! Stop f*cking crying. I can’t take it.”

I stomped my foot. “No. I will not stop crying. I ache for you. And I will mourn what happened to you, what’s still happening to you, if I want to!”

“I’m going to lose it, City.” He turned so he couldn’t see my face. “I’m not f*cking lying.”

I ground my teeth and glared at him. “Then lose it. Do something about all these tears if you don’t like them.”

He zipped his attention my way and gaped at me, his shock momentarily ebbing his rage.

“Do something,” I begged, feeling my heartache drip down each cheek.

Whimpering, he clutched his head. But instead of coming toward me, he turned away and rushed for the door, leaving me alone to cry by myself.

A sob caught in my throat, and for a moment, I didn’t think I’d be able to breathe through it. Then the air came, and I shuddered with defeat.

He’d just left me. I couldn’t believe he’d really leave me.

My knees gave out, so I half-crumbled, half-sat on the floor. Then I curled into a fetal position on the carpet, hugging myself, my head about to explode from the pain throbbing between my temples.

The door reopened so quietly I didn’t hear it. I didn’t even realize he’d returned until he growled, “God f*cking damn it,” directly above me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.