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I didn’t know how to answer because it was so hard to admit that I might always do that.
What did it say about me that I couldn’t dislodge this one tiny thing from the deepest parts of who I was? That I couldn’t dislodge the idea of one person from the core of my being?
“I don’t think it’s fair for me to pretend Jax being back doesn’t change things,” I told him carefully. “It’s hard for me in a different way.”
Dean swallowed thickly. “How?”
I blew out a slow breath, pulling my hand back to run it through my hair. “When he was gone, it was like … I could pretend that I was this different version of myself. The girl who moved on,” I said in an emotion-choked voice. Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. “And I wanted to move on. I promise you, I did.”
In the silence that followed, Dean nodded slowly. “But you can’t.”
“I told Jax that I want us to be friends, and I mean that.” My throat felt locked tight with regrets and frustrations and the weight of the absolute chokehold that man had on me. “But it’s not fair for me to put you in the position of being my safety net.”
Dean’s brow furrowed as he processed that silently. “Is that what I was?”
“Not always,” I answered honestly. I shifted forward, my thigh resting easily on his while I cupped his face. “You made me feel beautiful and wanted, and that’s exactly what I needed when we met. You made me feel like it was possible to move on. I have loved our time together.”
Dean gently wrapped his hand around my wrist and pressed a soft kiss to my palm. My fingers curled up helplessly when he rolled his forehead against my hand. “Is that time over?” he asked.
There was no point beating myself up anymore for not feeling the right things for him because there was no right or wrong in any of this. We were all just doing our best, and the worst thing I could do was string him along. Use him to hide from the things I didn’t want to feel.
“I think it has to be.”
He deserved better. So did I.
If I expected my family to take me seriously, then I needed to act like an adult and do the hard thing. The thing that didn’t feel good, leaving me open to a different kind of vulnerability.
His eyes went a little red, but he didn’t tear up. I did, though. Dean rolled his lips together and studied my face. “I knew this was coming the second he got out of that truck.”
“Why?”
“You looked embarrassed that I kissed you.”
Shame had me dropping my gaze. “I’m so sorry.”
“But I made you feel safe?” he asked. “Before that, I mean.”
Slowly, I nodded. Dean brushed a thumb along my cheekbone, dragging it down my jaw to my chin. His hand eventually dropped back down into his lap, and I knew that was probably the last time he’d touch me.
“If he’d been home this whole time,” Dean said, “would you have stayed with me this long?”
There was a look in his eye, the kind that told me he already knew the answer. So did I.
The first tear fell, and as I brushed it away, I got that feeling—the weightless, uncomfortable turn of my stomach flipping in on itself.
If I were in my bedroom, with that chipped mirror on the wall, I wouldn’t want to meet my own gaze because it was horrible to face the consequences of such a deep-rooted thing inside you. The kind that caused pain for someone else.
But no matter what, he deserved my honesty.
“Probably not,” I whispered. “And I know how unfair that is. How unfair I’ve been.”
Dean sat back on the couch and tilted his chin up to stare at the ceiling.
“I should go,” he said, standing up as he did. I pushed off the couch, ready to walk him to the front door. His next words stopped me though. “I hope being friends with him is worth it.”
“What do you mean?”
Dean shook his head. “I think no matter how this plays out or how badly you want to be friends with him, Jax will break your heart.”
