Kiss the Stars (Falling Stars #1)(74)

Sheer anguish dented every line on his gorgeous face, this man hemorrhaging from someplace I couldn’t see, but it was anger that purged from his tongue. “It doesn’t matter.”

Disbelief left me on a haggard, brutalized laugh, and my hands moved to my chest like it might keep my heart from spilling out. “It doesn’t matter? How can you even begin to say that, Leif? You push me away and then you refuse to let me go. I think I deserve to know why, don’t you?”

“Mia . . . I . . . I can’t.”

“Leif . . . just . . . talk to me. Please. You can trust me. You’ve been holding me up. Let me hold you up, too.”

“Mia.”

It was refusal.

An appeal.

As if again he didn’t know if he should hold me close or push me away.

“Leif, I’m standing right here, begging you to believe in me.”

His head shook, and he took a step back.

A barrier built.

Disappointment hit me. Full force. My smile was forged, as fake as my surrender. “Okay. Fine. I get it.”

Before I let myself get beat up anymore, I found the strength to turn and walk away.

If he wanted me, he was going to have to prove it.

I was halfway back to the door when he called my name.

A moan of affliction.

I stilled, unsure, but I turned when he muttered, “You want my honest?”

“I do.”

It was an oath.

A promise that I would hold whatever he offered.

He was in front of me in a second, a thunderbolt of grief, his hands squeezing my face in desperation when he released the confession, “I was apologizing to my wife, Mia. My dead wife. That’s who I was apologizing to.”

The words were jagged.

Sharp edges and crushed vestiges.

Nothing left to be repaired.

My eyes rounded with his revelation, mind rushing to process through his anguish.

Through what he had lost.

He started to step away. As if he couldn’t stand in the declaration.

I let my phone slip free so I could grab him by the wrists. Slayed by the realization of where his desperation had come from last night. The ghosts that I had felt wailing in his spirit.

“God . . . Leif. I’m . . . I’m so sorry. So sorry.” I blinked a million times, as if it might erase some of his pain. Like it could soothe mine as I struggled to fumble through the idea that she had been there with us.

Between us. On his mind and on his tongue.

That he’d felt dishonor in touching me. In being with me.

“You want more of my honest, Mia?” he almost spat, his face so close to mine, his torment frenetic in the blank space that separated us. A barrier that our souls tried to breach.

I wasn’t sure that I could handle any more.

Tears flooded when he set those massive hands back on my cheeks, mine still manacles around his wrists.

“We move on from here? Then I need you to listen and listen good.”

I barely managed a nod.

“I was apologizing to her because you are the first person who has made me feel since losing her, Mia, and the truth is, I’m not quite sure how to handle that. You’re the first person who’s made me question what I’m living for. The first person who’s made me think that maybe I might want something different.”

He clutched me tighter. “Yeah, I’ve slept with other women, Mia. But you are the only one I’ve been with.”

Sorrow spun.

For him.

For her.

For me.

“The only one I wanted.” It was the confession of a sin.

The man on his knees.

I gulped down his misery.

“What happened to her?”

Grief clashed with the hardness of his expression. Stone and ice. He leaned in closer. “I told you that I’m really good at destroying everything I touch.”

I heaved out a staggered breath, refusing to believe the cruelty that fell from his tongue.

“You might not have been in my life for long, Leif Godwin, but I know you. You would never hurt her.”

His laughter was brutal. “Just because I didn’t pull the trigger doesn’t mean I wasn’t responsible. Doesn’t mean I’m not the devil.”

God. I wanted to believe he was speaking figuratively. But by the expression on his face? I couldn’t be sure. He curled his hand around the side of my neck, both possessive and tender. “And with you, Mia? You make it feel different. Make me want to be different. Be someone who is worthy of you. And that scares the shit out of me because I shouldn’t want you. Because I’m wishing I could be the kind of man that I’m not ever going to be.”

And I got it. I got it.

Saw so deep in his storm.

Like my fingertips had delved into the darkest depths of his spirit.

Touched upon the fear.

The reservations.

The hatred that seeped from his soul.

“Need to be here with you, Mia. Watch over you. Watch over your kids. Can’t walk away until I know you’re safe.”

It was a harsh plea.

That maybe saving us would be his only salvation.

But what I heard the most?

He would never allow himself to love me.

Not the way that I wanted him to.

That would be like me chasing down a falling star and catching it in my hand.