Page 130 of Keep Me Close

“No.” I hold up a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare call me that. Not now.”

His mouth closes.

I turn away for a second, staring blindly at the photographs on the credenza. Smiling faces and beautiful lies. My chest hurts so much, it’s a challenge to pull air into my lungs.

“You let me spend all those years thinking I wasn’t enough,” I whisper raggedly.

When the room remains silent behind me, I turn back to find that his face has paled.

“I never thought that. Not ever.”

“Then why?” I demand, the force of it surprising even me. “Why did you let me carry that?”

His jaw clenches. “I thought hating me would be easier for you than knowing the truth.”

I can only stare.

He gives a harsh shake of his head. “I thought if you believed I’d simply stopped loving you, it would be easier to move on.”

The words feel more like a slap.

“You arrogant fool,” I snap.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” My eyes burn. “You don’t get to walk in here after all these years and act like rewriting my life was for my own good.”

He blanches. “I’m not asking you to see it that way.”

“Then how exactly am I supposed to see it?”

He drags a hand through his hair, and for the first time since walking in, he looks stripped raw.

“As cowardice.” His gaze holds mine with unflinching clarity. “As weakness and fear. As me failing you when it mattered most.” His voice roughens. “Take your pick, Evie. They all fit.”

Tears prick my eyes. I hate crying in front of anyone. Most of all, I hate crying in front of this man. But there are too many nights I spent questioning my own worth. Too many careful decisions made around an old wound I believed was settled, only to discover decades later that it had been poisoned all along.

“You married her.”

It’s not an accusation but grief.

Hugh’s jaw tightens, a faint grimace pulling at his mouth like the words cost him more than he wants to show. “I did.”

I swallow hard and force out the question. “Did you love her?”

His response is quick, without hesitation. “No.”

Instead of his answer being a balm to my pain, it only makes it worse. Love at least would have made sense. Love would have made me the casualty of another choice. Brutal but understandable. This is so much uglier and colder. A life redirected by men who thought power mattered more than people. A girl abandoned not because she was unloved, but because the people deciding her future never once considered her at all.

When my knees grow unsteady, I sink back into my chair without grace.

Hugh takes a step forward. When I give him a sharp look, he stops.

Good. Let him stand there for once, feeling what restraint costs.

“Do you have any idea what this has done to me?” I ask, congratulating myself for keeping the thin waver out of my voice.

He looks as if he might be physically sick. “No.”