Page 55 of Well, Actually
“I’d call you, Eva,” he says, giving me a tiny shake. “I’d tellyou I liked you. I’d tell you I was a mess and ask you to be patient while I sort it out. But I can’t. I’m not that guy and you aren’t that girl anymore and I can’t unhurt your feelings or push myself out of my own way. But right now? I’m trying, Eva. I’m fucking trying. Can you at least meet me halfway?”
I open and close my mouth, trying to say something. Anything.
No, that’s not true; there are very specific things I need to say to him.
I need to tell himno. I need to tell him to get lost. I need to tell him that all of this is fake,fake, FAKE. My teeth clench, throat closing around the words I need to say to protect myself from another letdown.
Cooper’s hands move from my shoulders, trace up my neck, cradle my jaw. The space between our bodies crackles, tendrils of electricity urging us together, sparks growing stronger against our final shreds of restraint. We sway closer, not strong enough to resist the pull.
“Please,” he whispers, face creased in agony.
He strokes my skin, thumb brushing my lips. I part them, exhaling, and his nail gently scratches at my sensitive flesh. I try to find a floating rational thought, grip it with both hands and shove it into my mouth, say the words I need to say, instead of the ones I want to.
The fear is too real, too raw.
It sounds so lovely, what he’s asking. So soft and gentle, a cloud I want to luxuriate on as I float toward the sky. But he’ll hurt me again. Everyone always hurts me in the end.
Cooper leans toward me, our eyes locked, his body flushagainst mine. He’s so close, so warm. His lips right there, saying the things I wanted all those years ago.
“Say yes, Eva,” he whispers, the words ghosting across my mouth, sending a shiver of want through me, my pulse pounding like a hammer against an anvil, the need to have every inch of him pressed against every inch of me so overwhelming, I get dizzy with it. The word bubbles up my throat, curls across my tongue. I open my mouth to say it, to give in.
A crack of thunder booms around us, rattling my bones, making us jump. The bubble is popped, the world—with its freezing rain and harsh wind—crashes back through. We’re both breathing like we just ran a marathon, eyes wide and wild.
Cooper speaks first. “Eva—”
But I’m the one to move. As sudden as the thunder, I turn, sprinting away, working to outpace the feelings trying to drag me back to Cooper’s arms.
Chapter 14
Rain speckles the subway window, turning the city into a gray funhouse mirror as I try to focus on the passing view instead of my clown of a reflection. If there wasn’t a distinct grease smear on the glass, I’d bang my forehead against it in frustration.
Meet me halfway.
Cooper’s voice is a litany in my head that not even the noise of the train can drown out.
Please.
A couple sits across from me on the otherwise empty train. They’re giggly and punch-drunk, the woman’s head resting on the man’s chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as he plays with the ends of her short black hair, the display of affection doing little to ease the fist clenched around my heart, and I choke back a whimper.
“Why are you crying?” the woman asks suddenly in a lightly slurred voice, still nuzzled against her partner.
“Harper,” the man murmurs sweetly, slightly less tipsy than her. He shoots me a kind but apologetic smile.
Harper sits up, eyes wide and fixed on him, her hand resting on his thigh like she can’t stop herself from touching him. “What?” she whines. “This lovely woman is hurting. I want to make sure she’s okay. You’re so beautiful, by the way,” she says, turning to me and imparting drunk-girl kindness usually only found in bar bathrooms. “Something about you. You’re too soft to hurt this badly.”
I flinch, lips falling open in surprise. No one’s ever called me soft before in a way that wasn’t meant to harm me.
Even in a cocktail haze, Harper’s gaze is sharp as she scans my face, a loose smile curling her mouth like my surprise resonates deeply with her. “What’s wrong?” she coaxes.
My eyes flick to her partner, but he’s staring at her with a wonderstruck expression. I take a deep, shaky breath, the bricks in my walls shifting, edges crumbling. I have nothing to lose from pouring my misery out to this stranger.
“It’s this guy…”
“It’s always about love, isn’t it?” Harper says with a knowing giggle, her gaze still on me but body tilting closer to her partner.
“I don’t love him,” I rush out.
“Of course you don’t,” she says with a level of conviction neither of us believe.
