All of the books were hitting the floor with unsatisfying thumps. Year after year of her childhood, piling up after being consumed by him, secretly, over the last months.
“You could have asked me. How dare you hide out here, reading my dead father’s words about me, rather than talk to me yourself? Do your covert information-gathering on anyone else on this earth, but not me.”
“You looked me up online before I even knew you existed, Freja.”
“I will never forgive you for any of this. Do you understand that?” She swept the last of the books onto the floor and stood there glaring at him.
“I know that!” he near-roared, temper snapping in a way that had her recoiling in shock. He had never yelled at her. Not once. “I knew it when I woke up and Everett told me he’d killed me.” He snatched a book off his desk, one that had been set facedown, pages splayed open as though he’d been reading it minutes ago. “You think this has been easy for me?” He shook the book at her. “This was all I had.”
“That was your choice!”
“No, it wasn’t. For God’s sake, Freja, step out of your own hurt and look at the big picture. Do you honestly think I would put both of us through all of this on a whim? People’s lives were at stake. I got sloppy because I was impatient to retire from all of this.” He threw down the book and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ve spent the last months thinking that if I’d only met you now, when I’ve done as much as I could, instead of when I was in the thick of an unfinished job, we might have had a chance. But I am out of it now. You and I can start fresh.” His head came up. His gray eyes, dark as gathering thunderclouds, pierced into hers. “This is our chance for a new beginning, one that isn’t overshadowed by anything in our past.”
She shook her head. “Our past is going to follow us forever. I said I want a divorce and I meant it.”
She spoke with guttural fervor, but it was reflexive defense. Fear of more pain. Even so, there was a faint flutter of hope in her that yearned for exactly what he was offering. She hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. That would mean he could hurt her anytime he wanted and she would forgive him for it. She couldn’t do that.
Could she?
His expression tightened. He looked to his closed laptop.
“We will have to play the happy, reunited couple for the short term.” There was no arguing with that implacable command. “I’ve been identified in the video and Everett is making some final arrests as we speak. You and I will both have to make statements. The helicopter is coming back in the morning.”
Perversely, she was annoyed by that. She finally had him to herself and they were turning around and going back into the public eye? She crossed her arms and stared at the books tumbled around her feet. It had been childish to throw them around like that, but she was so angry. So filled with futility she had no means to express.
“You have always been a puzzle to me, Freja.” He spoke more quietly. Gently. “You’re completely unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. I was trying to understand you when I began reading those. If I hadn’t had this double life, your quirks and contradictions wouldn’t have fazed me, but you’re this anomaly who picks up a language in minutes and moves through a foreign city as though you already know every street.”
“I know I’m not normal!”
“Neither am I! That’s what I’m saying.” He sat back with a tired exhale and turned up a hand in a plea for understanding. “You slid past my very stalwart defenses the moment we met, made me your first lover on our first date. We happened so fast, Freja. You know that. I couldn’t take you at face value, given what I was hiding. I had to keep my guard up.”
“You made everything happen fast. That was your fault,” she accused him, pointing at him.
“You didn’t slow me down,” he threw back.
“And that made me an object of suspicion? I’m sorry for being attracted to you, okay? I thought you were a better man than you are. I won’t make that mistake again.”
A muscle pulsed in his cheek. “You’re hurt so you’re trying to hurt me. It’s working.” His gaze pierced into her, so naked for a second, she forgot to breathe. So anguished, the backs of her eyes grew hot. “I will accept all those stones you’re hurling because at least you’re here to hurl them.”
Her bottom lip pushed up into her top, and she had to pull it between her teeth and bite to keep from letting a sob of pain escape her thick throat. She looked away, still angry, still hating him, but now hating herself a little, too.
“This is who we are, Freja. I’ve had ample time to reflect on that. We happened too soon, too fast. Too hard. Our timing was off and our feelings were too strong. I’ve walked through every single ‘if only’ and ‘I should have.’ The truth is, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. I wanted you in my life, even though you weren’t supposed to be there. There were times you could have made different choices, too, but you didn’t. Because we’re inevitable.”
She rubbed where his words seemed to arrow straight into her heart.
“You go ahead and fight that as long as you need to. I tried, yet I’m still wearing this.” He showed her the band on his finger. “But don’t think any of this was what I wanted or that it came without a cost to me.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Just be fine with all of this?” She waved around a wild hand, tears of betrayal and despair filling her eyes.
“Healing takes time. Not everything goes back to the way it was. I am intimately acquainted with that reality. But we can recover from this, Freja. And we can still have a very good life.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to try.”
He sucked in a breath as though she’d shot him, which gave her zero satisfaction as she walked out.
Part of him knew he was dreaming, but the flash of her yellow shirt disappearing into the trees was too real. Too terrifying.
In his head, he was thinking he should hit the intercom and tell Kurt to bring her back, but his wheelchair was rolling recklessly down the path at speeds he’d only attempted in races on well-swept trails. Yet not fast enough. She was already gone into the darkened woods.
“Freja!” Out of sheer frustration, he threw himself from his chair—
The ground rushed up to knock his breath from his body. His head glanced off the wheel of his chair where he’d left it by the nightstand. It burned like hell, but not as much as the ignominy of falling out of bed.
He swore roundly as he tried to orient himself, pushing to sit with his back against the side of the mattress, still sweating, heart pounding, trying to catch his breath.