Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(23)

And then, her chin wobbled. Damn.

“Scarlet. I’m . . .” I wanted to say I was sorry, but everything I’d said was true. So instead, I said, “I’m so tired of the hurt. Aren’t you tired of it?”

She nodded, pressing her lips together, her eyes filling with tears. God, I wanted to go to her, hold her, comfort her, but that would lead to me being frustrated—and resenting her—and her feeling guilty, always guilty.

“I told you last Christmas that nothing had changed for me,” I said. “That was true then, but it’s not true now. I give up.”

Her face contorted like it might crumple, but at the last minute she regained her composure and lifted her chin, her stained-glass eyes shining brightly. Dani was right, Scarlet wasn’t ruined, and I was glad to see her spirit. It helped me focus my thoughts.

“I understand you’re doing my brother a favor, bringing me food and whatnot. I appreciate it. I’ll eat the food. Thank you. But you’ve been right all along.”

“I’m right?” she choked out, like she didn’t know whether to scream or laugh. “What am I right about?”

I gave myself a second to take a mental snapshot of her as she was now. And then I hardened my resolve. “We aren’t good for each other,” I said quietly.

She cleared her expression completely, the emotion leeching out of her, leaving just grim determination. “I see.”

“We never have been,” I went on, endeavoring to remove myself from this room, this woman, these final words. This was how it ended between us, I was certain of it, I surrendered to it. I was so tired. “I can see that now. I’ve been a fool—and unkind, I reckon—pushing for something that’s never going to happen.”

Scarlet’s throat worked but she said nothing, just glared at me.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you when you came back to town, withholding myself and my friendship. I’m sorry for pushing you to leave Ben and I’m sorry for being hateful and spiteful when you wouldn’t. I’m sorry for showing up the night before your wedding, my mind set on seducing you—we both know that’s why I was there, no denying it—and I’m sorry for all the fights since, all the angry words. I’m sorry for all of it. You deserve so much more than my resentment.”

She lowered her hands to her thighs, pressed them there, holding perfectly still.

“Like you said years ago, we bring out the worst in each other. That’s not your fault, it’s just how we—we don’t work.” The words suffocated me even though they needed saying. I was so damn tired of chasing windmills. “But being around you, near you, it’s difficult for me. I don’t know how to stop wanting something from you that you’ll never give.”

Her lips pressed in a line that looked stubborn, and she blinked several times. “You don’t think it’s difficult for me?”

I glared at her, resentment threatening like a thundercloud, flaring, and I barely stopped myself from saying something like, If looking at me still makes you feel so guilty, there’s the door.

She wasn’t finished. “Don’t you think, if I could’ve, I would’ve given you what you want? It wasn’t you. It’s never been you.” She pointed to her chest with both hands. “I was the problem, Billy. I was the one who made selfish decisions, kept secrets, hurt you, hurt Ben—”

I looked away, clenching my jaw. I swore to God, I was so fucking tired of hearing about Ben McClure’s hurt when all he did from day one was take advantage of her being fourteen and homeless, scared, alone. As far as I was concerned, what he did to her made him a predator. Worst of all, he believed all his own bullshit, which made it easy for other folks to believe it too.

“No, wait. Let me finish, please.” Her voice firmed, beseeching, and she darted forward, coming to stop about three feet away. “Let me say this, because I don’t know if I’ll ever have the bravery to say it again.”

I looked everywhere but at her. “No. No, I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I’m tired. I’m so tired of this.”

“Billy—”

“It’s over. I’m done. I don’t want to fight anymore.” I said this slowly, carefully, not looking at her. I couldn’t say it and look at her. I needed to tell her the truth, but I wanted my words to be as gentle as possible. “I’d appreciate it if, while I’m limited in my mobility, someone else brought up whatever food y’all want me to eat.”

I sensed her move away a step, maybe more. “If that’s what you want,” she said, her voice remote, like she was speaking from the other side of the room.

“It is.” I swallowed against the knot in my throat, my eyes pointed at the ground. “While we’re both here, I’ll keep my distance. And I’d appreciate it if you kept yours.”





Chapter Five





Claire





“In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy, with the feeling I was exceptional...What a special case I was.”

Sue Monk Kidd, The Secret Life of Bees





It was official, I’d had too much wine.

My eyes had trouble fixing on the stars. The bottle was empty—I’d been the only one drinking it—and I was feeling sorry for myself. When I was drunk, I always felt sorry for myself like a drunk, idiotic, dumb, foolish, drunk person.