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“Why what?” He throws his hands in the air.
“Why I left. It doesn’t feel like something I would’ve done.”
His fists clench. “Ask anyone in this town. You did.”
“Well, I don’t remember, so I’m not signing them until I find out why.”
He stares at me with flames igniting his hazel eyes. “Jesus, Luce…y, I’m trying to fucking help you here. Give me a little something in return.”
I stand. “I’m not giving up on us.”
“You already did. A year ago.” He steps forward.
“That was then.” I stomp my foot.
We end up chest to chest, and he says, “Meet me halfway. Let me salvage a little bit of my self-respect.”
I lay my hand on his chest. His heartbeat pounds against my palm and he swallows, clenching his jaw. But he doesn’t fling my hand off of him. That has to be a good sign. I can feel that there’s still an underlying current that’s alive between us. “Do you love me, Adam?”
He never looks away. “Sign the papers, Lucy.”
“I’ll make you a deal.” I run my hand down his chest.
His hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me from going farther, but still he doesn’t remove it from him. “No deal. Sign.”
“My mom gave me two months here. I’ll sign them then. No matter what happens. Whether I remember or don’t. In two months, if you still want a divorce, I’ll sign.”
Our eyes are locked, and I sigh, seeing him actually soaking me in. All the other times I’ve been around him, I felt as though he was actively trying to ignore my presence, but here I am, right in front of him, and it feels as though he’s really seeing me for the first time since I came back.
I inch up on my toes and he releases my wrist, his hand falling to my hip. My breath is shallow as we slowly, so slowly, move closer. When our mouths are inches apart, he releases me, stepping back and storming over to the door.
“I’ll pick you up at nine on Saturday.” He slams the door behind him.
I pick up the divorce papers and toss them in the trash. I’ll never sign them.
