Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
I throw up both hands to ward him off. “Please, Asher. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”
“Wait a minute…” His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as his voice fills with confusion. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Oh god.
Shock fills his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, unsure what else to say.
He shakes his head before plowing a hand through his thick blond strands, making them stand on end. “I don’t understand what’s going on here.” There’s a pause, and I can almost see the wheels in his brain turning. “Are you pushing me away because I told you I loved you? It was never my intention to scare you.”
I clear my throat and force out the lie I’ve been rehearsing in my head for days. “I think our relationship is moving too fast. With everything that’s going on, I just need to take a step back and focus on myself for a while.”
He tilts his head as if assessing my words for the truth. “But this isn’t a breather, is it?” An uncomfortable beat of silence follows that question. It’s like a knife to the heart. “You’re breaking up with me.”
No.
No.
No.
Even though everything within me is shriveling up and dying, I stand tall, because there’s nothing else I can do but see this through to the bitter end. “I think that would be for the best. It’ll be a while before I’m up for anything. So, you know…” My voice trails off awkwardly.
“Do you really think that’s what I care about? That I’ll get bored because we can’t go out or hit all the parties?” The scowl he sends me is ferocious. “Is that really the bullshit excuse you’re gonna give me?”
I couldn’t feel more like an asshole if I tried.
When I glance away, he snaps, “The least you can do is hold my gaze while you break my fucking heart.”
Thick emotion wells in my throat, making it impossible to breathe. I lock my knees so that I won’t crumple to the floor. “I can’t worry about someone else when I need to take care of myself. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
“Did I ever ask you to worry about me?”
Each grounded-out word falls from his lips like a bomb. I feel the impact of every single one deep in my soul. How is it possible for this to be so much more agonizing than I anticipated? I’m doing everything in my power to hold back the moisture that threatens to gather in my eyes.
“Did I?”
My teeth rake across my lower lip until pain throbs to life.
“All I want is for you to be honest with me.”
When he bursts into movement, I brace myself, knowing that there’s no way to stop him from laying his hands on my body. And I can’t deny that part of me wants to be hauled into his arms and held one last time before I cut him loose.
Barely am I able to suck in a breath before he reaches out and locks his fingers around my upper arms. And then I’m dragged to him, enveloped in his strength. Giving in to my need, I bury my face against his chest as the steady thumping of his heart fills my ears and the woodsy scent of his cologne cocoons me in familiarity. The importance of singeing this moment into my brain pounds through me as a heaviness settles in my soul at the knowledge that I will never meet another man who understands my needs as well as this one.
It takes effort to choke back the sob rising in my throat. I have to end this before I break down and change my mind. “I wish everything could be different.” That, at least, is the unvarnished truth. “But I need to be on my own right now.”
His muscles stiffen. “That’s it? We’re just…over?”
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Just opening my hand and letting him go.
“I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” he growls. “Don’t you dare apologize again.”
His arms tighten, pressing me so close that it feels like my ribs will shatter into a million pieces the same way my heart is.
And yet, I don’t want him to release me.
Not ever.
I remind myself that this is the right decision. I won’t jeopardize his future. He’s been working toward a career in the NFL his entire life. Since he first picked up a football at age four and tossed it around with his brother in the backyard. Even if he refuses to admit the truth, skipping this game will put all that in danger.
His lips brush against the top of my head before his arms disappear as he retreats until we’re no longer touching.
“I can’t force you to feel something you don’t.”
The anguish that vibrates through his voice is palpable, and it takes everything I have inside not to throw myself at him and beg his forgiveness. Maybe I haven’t been forthright about my feelings, but I love him. Instead of admitting the truth, I keep it locked deep inside where it can’t cause damage.