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My throat feels like it’s closing up, but I still manage to croak out the words, “But you love control.”
His eyes hold mine and I feel every word of his seep into the cells of my body and heat them.
“Only when it keeps you safe, Ava. When it makes you happy. Not when it means caging you like a bird.”
His gaze drops back to the tiny object in his hand.
“It’s a replica of her plane, isn’t it?”
He nods once before closing his fist around the tiny piece of blue metal, keeping it inside his palm.
“You need to see the world,” he rasps. “You fuckingglowwhen you travel. You crave adventure. But at that runway show, you’d lost it. It crushed me to see you like that. You weren’t happy.”
“How would you know? You were busy with Fran,” I say, hating myself for being so childish. But it hurt to see him with her. To see him withanyoneelse.
His eyes flare with heat as he pins his blue gaze on me. “You know that’s not what it was like.”
I shiver at the way he looks at me, like he’d spank me given the chance for letting the flimsy accusationslip free. But I can’t help the twist of jealousy in my gut that makes me say it anyway. I’m being petty when I came here for much bigger things.
For the truth.
“I know when you’re happy, Ava. I could see it in New York. I could see it in Thailand. I could see it at Jay’s house. You have this light in your eyes. The day you crashed my meeting, it was gone. Seeing you at the runway show, it was gone. You’ve gone from living in one box to living in another.”
I want to tell him to go fuck himself because that stings.
But he’s right. I knew something was missing, too. But it’s not what he thinks.
“It’s because I was with you.”
His beautiful dark brows that I’ve learned give away so many of his emotions pull together, creating a crease down his forehead, marring his handsome face.
“No. You were being yourself. Who you’re supposed to be. All those times we were traveling, you were this bright—”
“Distraction?” I breathe.
He drops his head again, uncurling his fist and looking into his palm.
“Guiding light,” he murmurs so quietly I have to strain to hear him.
“What did you give Callaghan? If it wasn’t my story, then what was it?”
Silence.
“Jet, what—”
“Something that wasn’t mine to give.”
I slowly ascend a couple of steps so that I can see the tiny blue wing walker plane in his hand.
“You gave him your mum’s plane? June’s Blue?”
He winces. “I gave away her pride and joy. Dad’s memories of her with it. My memories. My fucking soul. I’m son of the year, just like you said.”
“You’reher pride and joy. Look at everything you’ve achieved.”
He stares at the tiny plane, a grimace pulling on his lips.
“I’m an asshole.”
