Driven By Fate(52)

Tears shone in her silver eyes, seconds from falling. She’d wrapped herself in the sheet like a flimsy shield. A shield from him. He’d expected to see the horror on her face when she realized the slip they’d made, but it was a physical blow nonetheless.

“I’m on the pill,” she whispered.

The racing in his chest ground to a halt. “What was that?”

She pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders. “I said, I’m on the pill. I’ve been on it since high school. So.”

Confusion infiltrated his devastation, shining through in painful rays. He refused to acknowledge the disappointment. Refused. “I fail to see why you’re seconds from crying, then.”

Her sarcastic laugh shook loose a single tear. “Oh, I don’t know, Porter.” She swiped at her cheek, glancing over at the adjoining door that he’d slammed and locked, never to open again. “After that…after what we did, the trust that took, you just accused me of trying to trap you.”

If he thought he’d been shattered before, the pain in her voice proved him wrong. Now. This was what it felt like to be shattered. Is that what he’d done? Accused her of trapping him?

Yes.

But no. She was the one who would be trapped with him.

Her words bounced around his skull, distracting him from anything else. He’d just unfairly accused the girl who’d placed her trust in him time and time again, even though he continued to demonstrate how little he deserved it. Unacceptable. So unacceptable and yet, exactly what he expected from himself. He didn’t know how to have a relationship, how to avoid hurting or disappointing someone.

This is what you do. What you’ve always done. He drove away anyone with the ability to make him feel—bad, good, everything in between.

Would he drive away his own child?

Even the storm raging in his head couldn’t keep him from going to Francesca when she was crying. He lunged across the bed, intent on gathering her in his arms, on rocking her and apologizing until his voice went hoarse. But she was gone, the sheet empty in his hands. The bathroom door clicked shut in a way that sounded louder than a slam.

How? How had this happened? His body was still warm from making love to her. It didn’t seem possible he’d f*cked up so quickly, but he had, irreparably this time.

A split second later, he stood outside the bathroom, alarmed at the lack of light seeping from beneath the door. “Francesca. Let me in.”

Inside the bathroom, bathwater started to run and her muffled voice reached him through the door. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

The door flew open. She stood wrapped in a towel, tears gone from her eyes. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried by that. “No. I’m not fine. I wish I hadn’t come here.” Her breath caught. “I just want to be back in Queens.”

His heart splattered on the ground. “I didn’t mean it.” He lifted a hand to touch her, but she stepped out of his reach. “I know you wouldn’t do something like that.”

“You can take it back. Take it back a hundred times. I don’t care.” The defeat in her voice pelted him like sharp stones. “You know what, I forgive you for saying it. For even thinking it. How about that?”

“I don’t want to be forgiven,” he grated. “I want you to shout at me.”

“Why?” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “What would it solve? We knew this wasn’t permanent. You only reminded us both why.” A beat passed where she appeared to be debating with herself, deciding if she should say what came next. He was so terrified of the conversation ending, the finality of hearing no more, he could only wait and hope, pray, she continued. “I was lying there underneath you, listening to you breathe…thinking…maybe I could just give it up, you know?” A sharp sob escaped her. “Kids. Baseball games. Maybe I could give it up if you just laid on top of me and breathed every day. Because I couldn’t think of anything better than that.”

Porter went down on his knees. Or he fell. His arms weighed too much to reach out. Had his stomach caved in? He couldn’t breathe. Francesca placed a hand on his shoulder and, somehow, that broke him even more.

Give up everything. She’d wanted to give up everything. No, no, no. He couldn’t let her. I’m not worth it. He couldn’t even manage to stop hurting her, let alone make her happy.

“That’s everything I want in the world. Everything. So if you’ve got me thinking of forgetting them, leaving them behind…” He felt moisture land on top of his head. Knew it was her tears. “Then maybe you just did me a favor, saying what you did. Maybe I should thank you.”

“You’re thanking me for driving you away.” His voice rang hollow, as hollow as his chest. “The only thing worse than your leaving is knowing you don’t even care enough to hate me.”

“I can’t let myself feel the hate, Porter.” She removed her hand and his body sagged. “You know what they say about that thin line separating it from love. It’s too easy to cross it.”

Love. She could love him. And she was right. Loving him would kill her. Kill her dreams, the things that made her who she was.

Porter’s phone rang across the room, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. As they remained frozen in their positions, it rang again, and again, until he finally rose to go answer it, hating each step he took away from her. Even knowing now that it was inevitable.