Page 58 of Fight for You

"I wasn't talking about the scars," I snap at him, annoyed he's pretending he doesn't know what I was talking about. We both know he knows what I meant. The scars are self-explanatory. It's the tattoos currently wrecking me. "I'm talking about the tattoos. They're so sad. I want to know what they mean."

"They mean…fuck, they mean I spent seven goddamn years without you, okay?" He pushes himself to his feet and paces in a restless circle. "I don't want to talk about them."

"Fine, then let's talk about the scars," I say, grabbing my robe from the floor. Having this conversation naked with his come covering me is a little too much. I thrust my arms into the robe and then cinch it tight around my waist. "How'd you get the one on your side?"

"Working," he mutters.

"And the bullet wounds to your chest?"

"Also working," he growls, reaching for his shirt before yanking it on over his head.

"Why do you think I should hate you, Cade? What did you do back then that was so bad? Why do you blame yourself for what happened?"

"Because it was my fucking fault!" he roars. "They're dead because of me!"

I flinch backward, cowering into the side of the couch.

"Fuck," he curses and then takes a step away from me, putting his forehead against the wall. He stands there like that for a long time, his defeated stance making my throat ache with emotion.

"Talk to me," I plead. "Why do you think it's your fault?"

"Just leave it alone, January," he rasps. "Fuck. Just leave it alone."

"You want me, but you don't want to share your life or your pain with me," I whisper when I find my voice. Tears spill down my cheeks, but I don't brush them away. I let them fall. "You were always trying to protect me, but life doesn't work that way, Cade. I haven't needed you to protect me for years, and I don't want it now. If that's all you have for me, then you can keep it."

"January–"

"Why do you blame yourself for what happened? I deserve to know the truth."

He stays silent, his head hanging low between his shoulders, and his body tense. He doesn't try to tell me the truth. He doesn't try to say anything. He just stands there, not speaking. And that says all I need to know about where this thing between us is headed.

Even now, he thinks he has to protect me. That I'm not strong enough to handle the truth. Maybe he's right. Maybe the truth will break me. But I'd rather be broken by his honesty than destroyed by his silence.

I've had years of his silence. Years of wishing I'd been stronger or braver or anything that would have prevented us from losing everything. I don't think I can survive having him right here in front of me and still feel like I'm drowning under the weight of his silence and my own guilt. It was hard enough when he was in Washington. I can't do it while sharing a bed with him.

"I can't do this with you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself so I don't fall apart. "I deserve the truth. We can't do this if you can't give it to me. I won't fall for you again just to watch you break my heart all over again."

"January, I…" He trails off and sighs.

"Just go, Cade," I whisper, keeping my gaze locked on the floor so I don't have to see if this is hurting him. If it is, I don't want to know. And if it isn't, well, I don't want to know that either. All I know is that I never fell out of love with him to begin with, and telling him to leave now hurts like hell. So does the fact that he'd rather leave again than talk to me.

He moves around the room, gathering his stuff. When he's got his pants on and his boots on his feet, he stops in front of me and stands there for a long moment.

Just when I think he's going to open up and tell me what he did that made him believe I should hate him, he sighs instead and crosses the room.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles as the front door closes behind him.

"Damn you," I whisper, sinking to the couch as a sob catches in my throat and the tears start to fall.

Chapter Eleven

January

“January?” Cade blinks wearily, staring at me like he’s looking at a ghost. “What’s wrong, baby girl?”

“Don’t call me that.”

He flinches, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Fuck. You’re still pissed.”