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Why she would become a completely different person.
I was going to get to the bottom of it.
I placed my scotch on her palm. “Drink this. I’ll go get myself another one.”
“No, I’m supposed to serve you?—”
“Don’t move.”
I went into the galley and found a tumbler in the cabinet, along with the bottle of scotch, and filled the glass with several fingers’ worth. When I returned to the cabin, she was sitting on the couch across from my seat, the glass still in her hand.
I nodded toward it. “Take a sip.”
“For the record, I’m not caving because you told me to or because of peer pressure.” She surrounded the rim with her lips and swallowed. “I’m drinking this because I need it.” She took another gulp. “But you never saw this happen—got it? The trouble I would get in”—she shook her head—“would be endless.”
She set the glass on her lap and looked at me. Multiple seconds seemed to pass before she spoke again. “I know you want an answer about the phone number.”
“What I don’t want is bullshit.”
She nodded. “I get that.” She crossed her legs, her body almost caving inward into the seat. “I hate that I have to tell you this. It honestly makes me feel sick to my stomach.” She took another drink. “But, yes, I gave you the wrong number.”
The anger that was always there came to a rippling boil.
I’d fucking tracked this woman down, only to find out she didn’t want me to.
That didn’t stop me from barking, “Explain.”
“Explain to you that I’m a mess?” She sighed. “That my life is?—”
“Complicated. I know.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
Her head shook, like she was in a field and didn’t know what direction to take to go home. “I was hoping I could disappear before this conversation ever took place. I don’t know what to say now that you know the truth.”
“Let me get this straight.” I was trying to keep my voice down, but the tone was as sharp as a blade. “You never wanted to see me again?”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to see you again. It’s that I shouldn’t. The difference between those two statements is huge.”
Not a goddamn thing made sense to me, and that wasn’t the scotch’s fault.
“What am I supposed to do with that, Lily?”
“You can’t do anything.” She seemed to sink even lower into her seat. “That’s why I wanted to run. So we wouldn’t have to face each other and I’d never have to look you in the eye and tell you that regardless of how I feel and what I truly want”—she paused to take a breath and then another—“you and I can never happen.”
Each word was like a fucking slap against my face.
I was here, making more of an effort than I ever had in my entire life.
And this—this goddamn rejection—was what it had earned me.
No.
Fuck that.
I went to reach for the scotch, and my hand balled instead. “You gave me a fake number in hopes that”—my clenched hand circled the air—“this conversation, this meetup, would never happen.”
She’d already spoken that answer.
But I needed to hear it again.
