Page 93 of Stay With Me

I thought the only way I could convince her to not fight me about breaking up, was to anger her, and when that didn’t work, I knew I had to hurt her. The easiest way to do that was simple—make her think this was more physical than anything else to me. Emily is a romantic at heart, always has been. I know what it meant to her that I designed the house as I did because I wanted her to like it. So, I also knew what it would do to her if I took that from her. It would break her heart. And then she could walk away.

When I get inside, I grab a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and head out the front door, making my way to the tree line and one of the least traveled paths on the property. I need to get away for a few minutes, be out in nature, and as far away from her as possible. Because if I don’t put some distance between us, I’ll run back in and apologize for lying to her and hurting her with my words. I’ll tell her that even though I know I’m not the kind of man she deserves, and that I have the potential to do to her what my father has done to my mother, I love her.

And I do love her. So fucking much. That love gives me the strength to do what’s best for her and that’s ending this now. It’s not risking letting her lose her light because of me.

She’s fought too damn hard this past year to resurrect herself from the ashes of her marriage, and I won’t risk taking that from her. If I have to inflict some temporary hurt so that, long term, she gets her happy ending, then so be it.

As I walk through the woods, I get lost in my thoughts. When we got home from my parents’ a few days ago, I couldn't get past the embarrassment that she saw what my family is like. Fear that she would look at me differently because of how much rage I revealed when I saw my mom bleeding made me avoid her.

It was almost a relief that I had to work yesterday because it gave me time to think about everything and what needed to happen. And I really did plan on trying to talk with her and see if we could salvage this, see if we could figure out a way for her to protect herself from the ugly parts of me. The Fitzgerald parts.

But then earlier today when she got home and basically ran from me into the house, a nervous energy wracked my body. After chopping wood in weather that made me feel like I was going to collapse, I came into the house and went to the kitchen, drank two tall glasses of water, and went to find Emily to check that she was okay before showering.

That’s when I heard it. I wasn’t meaning to eavesdrop on her conversation. I don’t even know who she was talking to. But then I heard her say that she was afraid of me, that I scared her and that she doesn’t know how a woman could be with a man like that, let alone have children with him.

I know I went upstairs and jumped in the shower, but I don’t even remember cleaning my body. I just kept hearing those words on repeat in my head. Emily’s words. My father’s words. They all confirm what I know to be true, Emily Flynn is too good for me and deserves better than anything I can give her.

Sure, I try to be a good man, but what would I be like if I lived with a woman, day in and day out, for years? How would I treat her? Would I notice if I was overshadowing her and if I didn’t notice, would she tell me?

The things I said to Emily, telling her I only care about her as a friend, and that this was just physical for me, they’re lies I told to set her free.

I walk for almost two hours, and when I get back to the house, Emily’s stuff is no longer in the master bedroom and the bedroom door where she had been previously sleeping is closed.

When I wake up the next morning, my head is thick with tortured thoughts and memories of the brief time Emily was finally mine. And my chest heavy is with regret, not regret that I ended it—that needed to happen—but regret that I let it get this far and she ended up hurt. I scribble a note and leave it on the kitchen counter to let her know I picked up sixteen hours today for one of the A shift firefighters, but I’ll be back tonight. Then, I leave.

After I arrive at work, I put my things in my locker, and report downstairs for the morning assignments. Trina’s the A shift captain and she looks at me and says, “What the hell happened to you? You look like hell.”

“Good morning to you, too,” I grumble. “Just not sleeping well, that’s all.”

I want to ask her if there’s been any progress in Ben’s investigation into who’s been harassing her, but she’s private and I don’t want to ask while we’re here at work. If she brings it up later, that’s one thing, but with Trina, I know to respect her boundaries.

I’m assigned to the ambulance today and we’ve had back-to-back medical calls all day, which I’m grateful for because it helps keep me distracted and the sixteen hours fly by. I leave at midnight and get home about twenty minutes later, but when I don’t see Emily’s car in front of the house, panic washes over me.

Once I’m inside, I rush to the kitchen, where I left her a note this morning, to see if she left me one. She did.

Fitz,

I have moved as much of my stuff out as I could today. I’ll figure out how to get the rest of my books and the beds sometime soon. I’m sorry they’re in your space.

Thank you for letting me stay with you. Here’s your key.

Emily

She called me Fitz. She never calls me Fitz. On the day I met her ten years ago, she decided she would call me Charlie and has ever since.

I rub at an ache in my chest, there from the lack of warmth in her note. I get it. I don’t deserve any kindness from her after how I made her feel. Still, it’s painful to read the words and their lack of emotion.

I grab a glass of water and head upstairs. I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from opening the door to the guest bedroom and spending the next couple of minutes looking around the room.

Her stuff is all gone; it’s void of any sign of Emily. And she was what made this place feel like a home.

I’m wired now because this makes it all real. This means I don’t get to see her sleepy face and her gorgeous bedhead when she wakes up in the morning. It means I don’t get to watch her as she works in her garden, even though she’s terrified she might come across a snake. It means there’ll be no more pictures in front of the sunflowers.

I won’t have her in my arms as we drift off to sleep or have her to make love to when the intensity of our desire for each other is more than either of us can say no to in the moment.

This was the right thing to do for her but, shit, this aches. It hurts bad. I’ve not only lost my lover, but I probably lost my friend.

CHAPTER35

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