Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“What were you looking for last night?” I asked. “When you had me underneath you, your hand was searching for something.”
He blew out a slow breath and raked his hands through his short hair. “I usually keep a weapon under my pillow when I’m deployed, and I was dreaming—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. And honestly, things like what happened last night just add to the many reasons that you and I work the way we do.”
“But we don’t!” I pushed off the bed, unable to sit still. I felt like I was going to come out of my skin, like my body couldn’t possibly hold the intense emotions coursing through me. “This isn’t a real relationship if we keep doing it this way, Nate.”
“I never said it was.” He stood, but didn’t move closer to me, just watched me prowl back and forth across our room. “We agreed not to blow our shot, remember? We agreed—”
“A lot changes in three years,” I countered. “That’s how long I’ve been waiting, Nate. Three years, constantly comparing whomever I happen to be dating to you. Constantly wondering where you are, how you are. Wondering if you’re ever going to let me in, tell me what happens to you when you deploy.”
“You don’t want to know any of that.” He slid his hands into his pockets, the picture of cool and collected.
“Yes, I do! How am I supposed to know you if you won’t really let me?”
“You know me better than anyone—”
“No, I know what you let me see better than anyone.” I pivoted on the hardwood floor, my back to the door as I faced him.
“What do you want me to tell you, Iz?” He cocked his head to the side, and that mask I saw from time to time—the one he’d worn at his mom’s funeral—appeared. “Who I am over there isn’t who I am when I’m with you. I really don’t want you getting to know that guy.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I hated how unruffled he seemed, like he wasn’t struggling with the constant distance between us—the ever-moving goal line of when we’d be able to have a real relationship.
“It means that I’m . . .” He sighed. “I’m an effective compartmentalizer. I’ve learned how to separate the shit that happens over there from my life stateside. It’s one of those coping mechanisms you talked about years ago, remember?”
I did.
“And if I want to know all of you?”
“You don’t.” He shook his head with certainty.
“I do,” I argued.
“No. You. Don’t. The fact that I can keep that shit under a lid isn’t to lock you out, Iz, it’s to protect you. You shouldn’t have to deal with . . . everything.”
“Because you don’t trust me to be there for you?” I took two steps closer to him. “I was there for your mom’s funeral. I showed up when you needed me.”
“You did, and I know I never thanked you enough for that—”
“You don’t have to thank me, Nate. I want to be there! God, don’t you get it? Don’t you understand that there’s no way I can stay away if I know you’re suffering?”
“Which is exactly why I haven’t told you.” His voice rose. “You wouldn’t want to know the things I’ve done, the things I’ll do. You’d never look at me the same way. You think getting startled out of a nightmare is bad? It’s not. Not to mention that you can’t know any more, now that I’m going into Special Forces. It’s mostly classified. Izzy, you’re the one good, untainted thing in my life. You are the only peace I know. Why would I drag you into a shitstorm if I don’t have to?”
“So, I’ll never know what you go through? How to help you?” My chest clenched along with my fists.
“Why would you want to?”
“Because I’m in love with you!” I shouted, then gasped, covering my mouth with both hands. Shit, that was not supposed to come out.
His eyes flared. “Isabeau, no.”
My cheeks stung with heat as I backed my way out of the bungalow and onto the deck. If I dove off the end right now and started swimming, I could reach the next island over by the afternoon. I could avoid the rest of this conversation.
“You can’t love me,” he said, shaking his head as he followed me out. The look on his face was pure devastation.
“And you can’t tell me how to feel!” Once my back hit the railing, there was nowhere else to go. “Can’t we just ignore that I said it?”
“No.” He stalked forward, only stopping when he had me caged, one hand gripping the railing on either side of me.
“Why not? You’re asking me to ignore everything that happens when we’re not together. You’re asking me to live off an existence of what you deign to tell me through letters and emails.” I lifted my chin and tried to glare at him, but the concern, the apprehension in his eyes chipped at my anger.