Page 127 of The Tartan Thesis

A humorless laugh escapes me, and I shake my head.

“You’re Beau,” he says, “the sweet American who turned my life upside down. You walk into a room and turn a dull day into an adventure. You’re intelligent, witty, and kind. You care about people—too much sometimes. You were nice to me when others didn’t want to be, you charmed my entire family without even trying, you believed in me more than I believed in myself. You liked me for me.” His mouth twitches. “And you have those goddamn dimples!”

My heart warms at his words, but I’m not ready to give in. I still don’t know what broke in the first place, how we got here.

“Liked?” I repeat, staring at him. “Torin, I loved you, alright? Not like. Love. I loved you.” Can’t believe how many times I’m saying it. “I did everything I could to get you to love me back, and do you remember what you did in return?”

His eyes widen. I answer before he can come to his senses.

“You yelled at me. You told me I was stupid, and you left.” My voice is trembling, the hurt washing over me again. “Then you blocked my number and acted like I wasn’t in the room any time you saw me.”

“I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Do you understand why I still don’t believe you know me?” I shout, my heart beating hard, eyes threatening tears. “Do you understand why saying you’re sorry isn’t good enough? You wouldn’t even tell me why you were upset!”

“I know,” he says quickly, “and that’s what I’m trying to explain! You’re not stupid. I’m the one who behaved like an eejit. I’ve never felt about anyone the way I did about you.” He pauses, then quieter, “The way I do feel about you.”

“Then why?” I say, holding my ground. “Why did you push me away? Why did you leave? If you care so much about me, why did you do it? Why?”

We’re making a scene now, passersby eyeing us warily, but I can’t keep my voice down. “If you can’t explain this to me, then you can’t possibly expect me to trust you again.” I pause, my breathing heavy. “Tell me why you left, or I—”

“Because I was terrified!” he shouts, the words ripping out of him.

“Of what, Torin?” I fire back. “Of what?”

“Of you leaving!”

“So you decided to leave instead?” I ask, my pitch dangerously high.

He flinches, a broken sound leaving him as he wipes at his eyes, and despite all that’s happened, I want to go to him, comfort him.

I almost move. But this matters. We have to do this right or not at all. Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

“Torin,” I say, voice soft, “tell me why you were so scared that you had to leave.”

He takes a breath and then, it’s like a dam breaks and the words come pouring out. “Because I was afraid it was going to happen again, that you would leave me like James did. You were so kind to me, so patient, so caring, and I didn’t trust it. As soon as I saw something that made me doubt you, I rushed out the door, ignoring your feelings on the way. I didn’t ask. I didn’t listen. I just—” He lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders slumping. “I pushed you away to get it over with before I could fall any harder for you. Because I always focus on the trauma of the past. Because I don’t think I deserve the wonderful things right in front of me.”

His lips tremble as the tears come fast, and I cave. I rush around the car to him, fishing my handkerchief from my pocket and pressing it into his hand. He takes it, covers his face, shoulders shaking. I wrap my arms around him and pull him to me, holding him tight, and he folds into me.

I don’t say anything, just rub a hand up and down his back while he sobs. The world keeps moving around us, footsteps, voices, a car passing somewhere behind me, but I barely notice. I just hold him, still hesitant and confused, but so happy to have him in my arms again. I kiss the top of his head and close my eyes, hoping this is the start of a new beginning, one where we can communicate our thoughts and feelings, one where we trust each other and work together to find solutions to our problems.

“I’m sorry,” Torin whispers as his tears begin to subside.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say.

He pulls back, his face a mask of confusion. “For what?”

“For the things I said to you. I woke up so happy that morning, happier than I’ve ever been, then you crushed me. I could feel you slipping away, and I lashed out in an attempt to protect myself. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“I know,” he says. “I would’ve done the same. I never should’ve left like that, but I saw your old thesis proposal about Highland culture, and all the notes you’d recently taken, and I thought—”

“What?” I ask, my heart thumping.

“But then I talked to Professor Moreau,” he rushes to say, “and she told me you believed no one could do that research better than I could. That you gave up the topic but stayed interested so you could talk to me about it.”

I take all of that in, mind reeling, torn between being upset that he hadn’t trusted me, and clarifying one more time that I would never hurt him intentionally.

“Beau?” he says when I don’t respond, the look of hope draining from his face.