Lovegame(118)

For me.

Ian Sharpe is crying for me when I don’t have the strength or even the will to cry for myself.

I don’t know how to feel about that. Don’t know what to think. But before I even realize I’m going to do it, I move my hands to his head. Tangle my fingers in the cool silk of his hair.

“Ssh, don’t cry, Ian,” I tell him softly. “Please don’t cry.”

His only response is more violent shudders, more tears against my skin.”I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Okay,” I tell him, because I don’t know what else to say.

“It’s not okay. I was so hell-bent on making sure I wasn’t a monster that I became one after all. I hurt the one person that I would never want to hurt and I did it why? Because I was afraid of turning out like my brother? Because I was afraid the same darkness lived in me and I wanted to prove it wasn’t true?” His voice is ripe with self-disgust. “I was so caught up in studying the darkness, in trying to understand it, that I dragged you down into it without even thinking about what I was doing to you. To us.”

“There is no us.” I don’t say it to hurt him, but he flinches all the same.

“I know. But there could have been. There should have been. And I know saying I’m sorry isn’t good enough. I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it’s true all the same. I’m so sorry that I didn’t think about what my demons would do to you. So sorry that I let my fears get in the way of what we could have been. But that’s on me, Veronica. It’s all on me. None of this is your fault. None of this is because of you.”

He looks up at me then, his beautiful dark eyes still glistening with tears and something more. Something I’ve never seen before and don’t quite know how to identify. And still just the sight of it cracks something open deep inside of me, a spark of warmth blooming in a sea of ice. No one’s ever cried for me before. No one’s ever cared enough to hurt like this just because I hurt.

“You are amazing, Veronica. You’re brilliant and kind and talented and beautiful and you don’t deserve any of the shit that’s come your way. None of it is your fault. None of it.

“William Vargas should have been protecting you. Your parents should have been protecting you. I—” His voice breaks and he clears his throat. Starts again. “I should have been protecting you. You have been betrayed by every single person who should have been looking out for you. Who should have been taking care of you. And for that I am so, so desperately sorry. I will always be sorry.”

He tightens his hold around my waist, pulls me so close that I can feel his heart beating frantically against my stomach. “I get that I’ve given you no reason to trust me—that no one in your life has ever given you a reason to trust them. But I love you, Veronica. I love—”

“Stop.” I force the word out past my too tight throat. “Please. Don’t say that.”

Suddenly it’s all too much. Ian’s words. The look on his face. The feel of his arms holding me like he’s never going to let me go. I can’t think, can’t breathe.

I push at him, struggling against his hold until he figures out what I’m asking for and opens his arms.

Lets me go.

I stumble back, stumble across the room to the French doors that overlook the patio. I shove them open and all but fall outside. I take great gulps of air, pulling it into my oxygen-deprived lungs. I don’t believe what he’s saying. I won’t believe it. I can’t believe it. Not if I ever want a chance at being okay again.

Because if I believe him and it turns out that he’s lying…If it turns out he’s lying then I might as well just give up right now, because I can’t take one more blow and survive. I have nothing left to give and nothing left to lose, except whatever small piece of my soul is still intact.

“It’s okay, baby.” Ian is right beside me, draping his jacket around my shoulders. Stroking a gentle hand down my back. “Just take it easy. Take a few deep breaths.”

I nod even as I do as he says. In through the mouth, hold seven seconds, out through the mouth. I do it again and again, until I can finally breathe without bleeding. I turn to look at him—Ian deserves that much, I think. “I can’t,” I tell him and I know that I should be more articulate. But it’s all I can think, the only phrase running through my head right now. I can’t. I can’t. Ican’tIcan’tIcan’t.

It must be enough, though, because he nods sadly.

“I know, baby.” His voice is filled with sadness, with a resignation that cuts deep into my already shattered heart. “I know.”

Still, he’s opened up so much I feel like he deserves something more than those two words, no matter how inarticulate it might be. “It’s not that I don’t…”

He freezes, his hand stopping mid-rub. “You don’t what?” he asks, his voice hushed in the cold night air.

But I just shake my head and look up at the endless stretch of star-strewn sky above us. I can’t say it. He can’t make me say it.

“I’m not writing the book,” he tells me for the second time tonight. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I’m standing right here in front of you, promising you that I will not write that book. That no one will ever hear your story from me. I’ve already told the publisher I’ve hit a dead end and given back the advance money. The book is dead.”