Page 74 of The Apparent Trap

But he’s not backing down. “Has it ever occurred to you that all this protection has actually been stifling you? That it’s forcing you into not actually being yourself and instead into some cosplay of a ‘good girl’? The one who’s always on time? Never asks for something for herself? Do you think any of this bullshit is actually helping anyone?”

I shake my head. “Thanks for the analysis, Freud. I’m already aware I’m fucked up! Look at this—” I wave my hands between him and me. “I got into a strange pact with a man who ghosted me so I could deliberately lie to the person who trusts me most in the world. Clearly the ‘bullshit’ is serving me great!”

“So that somehow gives you the right to break my trust?” he shouts, and the honesty of it shuts me up.

I hate how his words put me right back into that dual confused state with him—I want to slap him, but I want to kiss him. I want to push him off a cliff while simultaneously wrapping him up so tight and begging him to believe in me. I have no idea how this man breaks me down while breaking me right open.

We both stand there, staring, his shout ringing in both our ears.

“I didn’t break your trust,” I finally say, trying to reduce the boil to a simmer. “I don’t know how many times I can say this, but I’m not lying to you. I told Georgia about my dad. She could tell I was upset about something. I didn’t tell her about you and Carmen. I didn’t tell her you’d been involved in anything I was doing. I didn’t even tell her we had Thanksgiving together! I didn’t tell her anything about you.”

“She’s just been mad at me for months for no reason?”

I bite my lip. “Okay, these two things are not related.”

“How?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Okay, yes, I told Georgia about you ghosting me.”

“So you did tell her—”

I hold up my hand. “That was literally the day after it happened. I was upset. For good reason!” I look over at him and can see that he’s not disagreeing with that part. “And because I didn’t want to tell her you were Carmen’s dad—after you both asked me not to—I never explained what actually happened in the bar. So she knows two separate things. She knows you ghosted me in a bar. And she knows my dad and Carmen are dating. She has no idea you’re related to Carmen in any way. Or, well, she didn’t before you stormed in here making accusations, which honestly now who knows what she thinks. But I didn’t break your trust, Lee. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

He scoffs and looks away. He’s like a wild horse, defiant, skittish, and so goddamned beautiful it hurts. I hate it. I hate that this man, who just days ago looked at me like I was more fascinating than the lit-up sky, can’t even meet my eyes now. And as much as he’s infuriated me, that’s the part I can’t take.

“Why don’t you trust me?” I ask, uncertain, trying to keep my voice calm. He doesn’t respond. He keeps looking away. “Why don’t you trust me, Lee?” I say, more firmly. “I get that I’m a damaged, avoidant psychiatrist’s wet dream. But I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me. I’ve never lied to you. I know you’ve told me a lot in confidence, and I would never . . . I would never tell anyone. I wouldn’t. Why don’t you trust that I would tell you the truth?”

“Because no one ever has,” he says quietly, his voice breaking, so much sharper than even his loudest shouts. “I wasn’t allowed to make my own decisions about knowing my own daughter. I’ve never been worth that to anyone. Why wouldn’t you just go tell Georgia? Why should I believe anything?”

And I can’t help it. Every piece of me that’s angry at him for bursting in here and accusing me is pushed aside by just wanting to make him not believe this. After feeling trust for him in my bones the way I did on that rooftop in Sweden, I can’t stand that he thinks anything less. I rush over and wrap my arms around him. I squeeze him so tight I’m afraid I might make it hard for him to breathe, but I can’t stop.

“It’s not your fault,” I mumble into his chest, my mind floating back to him saying those words to me during our second conversation. “You’re worth trusting, Lee. That’s not about you. What happened with Carmen is not your fault.” I can feel him softening, his head heavy on top of mine. “I’m not going to break your trust. I should’ve told you that I talked to Georgia about my dad and Carmen. But it’s not because I don’t trust you or because I wanted to lie to you—it just felt complicated. I would never share the parts that are about you and aren’t mine to tell. I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re infuriating, and I’m still kind of pissed you left me at that bar, and I think your breakup plans are just as pathetic as mine, and it’s incredibly irritating that you send me BLTs that confuse me, and I really loathe how much I always want to kiss you. But I wouldn’t break your trust.”

He pulls back, our faces so close, and his eyes search mine, desperate for answers that remain elusive. They rake deliberately across my face in a way that makes me blush.

“Always?” he asks.

“Always what?” Those eyes have left me a little breathless, and I can’t think straight.

“You always want to kiss me?”

I huff. “That’s what you took from that?”

“Hard not to.”

“You know I . . .” I sigh. “After Sweden, you have to know I do.” He lifts a hand and traces my jaw, like he can’t stop himself, his eyes still locked on mine. “But all the reasons,” I say feebly, hardly making sense.

“I can’t think straight enough to care,” he whispers.

And then his mouth is on mine, deliberate, urging. I don’t even hesitate—I let him in, taste him, wrap my arms around him even tighter. His hand slips back from my jaw into my hair, grasping, like he has to make sure I’m real.

“I always want to kiss you too,” he pants, pushing me backward until I’m against a wall and his entire body is pressed to mine, like there’s urgency to having every square inch touching. “For months I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. But now . . .” He sighs, his grip on my hair tightening. “For three days straight I’ve heard nothing but the sounds you made on that fucking roof.”

His hips roll forward, making me gasp. He nuzzles into my neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, and I feel like I might explode standing right here, with all my clothes on, up against a corner of my apartment.

“Watch some movies, I’ve heard that’s distracting,” I huff out, unsure if I’m still breathing.

“Was it?”