Page 285 of Face Off
I stare at her until the woman in front of me becomes someone I don’t recognize. “That’s what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
“You think I used you for sex.”
“I’m hurt.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“You kept saying this wasn’t a promise.”
“Because it wasn’t!”
“You knew what I wanted.”
“And you knew what I offered. You accepted it because you believed you could change my mind.”
“I thought what happened between us mattered.”
“It mattered so fucking much that I just stood at the bar downstairs and told my guys I don’t know whether I’m more terrified to stay or leave!”
Charm’s breathing stops.
“I told them everything,” I continue. “I told them I feel used. I told them I understand your illness, believe your suffering, see every change you fought to make, and remain furious that you let me build a life around promises you knew you couldn’t keep. I told them I don’t know whether I stay and fight beside you for whatever this could still become or leave because you still cannot give me what I need when I’m the one falling apart. I told them I’m scared to trust you and even more scared to walk away knowing what we have might never exist for me again if I leave.”
“Ryan—”
“I was deciding whether I stay or go, and you know what? You just answered the fucking question.”
Her face empties. “No.”
“You push so fucking hard, Charm. You don’t listen to me, and you don’t take anything I feel seriously unless it produces the answer you want.”
“That isn’t true.”
My head jerks back as a startled laugh bursts out of me. It holds no amusement, only the stunned disbelief of watching her prove my point while the accusation is still hanging between us.
“It’s happening right now!”
“I learned something painful and reacted.”
“You became anxious, threw logic through the nearest fucking window, and accused me of using you because I didn’t spend fifteen months living like a monk.”
“I said I was hurt.”
“You also said I dragged you through this weekend for sex I could get from anyone!”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“You never fucking do!”
The sentence lands between us with the weight of every promise that disappeared after she gave it.
“I have been painfully clear about what I need,” I say. “Slow. Patience. Time. I told you this weekend wasn’t a second chance. I told you I didn’t know what Sunday meant. I told you every good moment couldn’t become evidence that we were getting back together, and you agreed.”
“I was trying.”
“Until you heard something that hurt.”
