A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(175)

Kat’s heart stuttered. “Why?”

He kept his eyes to the floor. He shook from head to toe and made a pained noise that came from deep within him.

“Carter, you’re going to get sick,” Kat coaxed. “Please.”

“No!” he said loudly, too loudly for a sleeping hotel. “I need …” His chin dropped. “I have to say something first.”

Kat’s knees started to buckle. This was it: what she’d dreaded the most. He was leaving for good. Her heart skipped several beats and her insides clenched in preparation for the devastating impact of his words.

She cleared her throat and exhaled. “Please let me say something first.”

She took his silence as acceptance, even though his eyes remained glued to the sumptuous royal-blue carpet below their feet. Closing her eyes and praying she was able, she began to think of all the things she wanted to say to him.

“I’m so sorry, Carter,” she started. “I’m so sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have brought you here. It was selfish of me. My mother was— Everything she said was bullshit, Carter, I promise you. She’s the only one who believes it. I hate her for what she said. I hate her for making you doubt everything I’ve ever said to you. And I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you for walking away because I would have done the same, and I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from the things you were so scared of. God, I’m just so sorry.”

Kat dropped her forehead against the door, terrified it was going to be the last time she ever spoke to him. But she’d said all she could.

“I’m sorry, too,” he uttered, making Kat lift her head. He was still looking at his feet.

“You have nothing to—”

“Let me f*cking finish,” he snapped, squeezing his eyes shut. “I need to say this without you interrupting or arguing with me, okay?”

“Okay,” Kat agreed quickly.

“I have plenty to be sorry for,” he ground out through his teeth, pressing his clenched fist against the wall. “I’m—it’s—you’re, you’re … you’re everything to me, and I’m sorry I was such an idiot to have believed I was ever good enough for you.”

Kat pressed her lips together and cupped a hand to her mouth to stop the words of protest.

“I’m sorry I’m weak. I can’t—I—you wreck me, Kat. Things you say to me. The way you … love me. They do things to me, your words; they make me feel things no one else has ever made me feel. I’m sorry I’ve done shitty things, and I was a f*ckup—am a f*ckup. I can’t ever take my mistakes back. I hate that fact, but I can’t. They’re what they are and I’m who I am because of them.”

His body collapsed farther against the door frame. Kat stayed rooted to the spot, desperate to touch him, comfort him.

“I’m sorry I left,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have, I know I promised, but it was … so f*cking hard.” He pressed his forehead against the wall. “I was terrified that— Christ, I knew I should have just stayed in the room and not listened, but I wanted to know what she— I grabbed my bag and left,” he admitted. “Snuck out of the house like the f*cking coward I am. I didn’t know what else to do. The walls were closing in.”

“Carter.”

“I felt sick when I heard her say those things,” he continued. “Sick because I knew she was right. And I know you don’t agree, but she’s your mother, Kat, and she cares about you. She doesn’t want you with someone like me, and I get that, I really do. Shit, it kills me, but … I get it.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I figured it was better for everyone if I left.” His long lashes pressed against his cheekbones. “I shouldn’t f*cking be here.”