Page 21 of Frosty in Flannel
The truth was, I didn’t know how to be what she needed. Didn’t know how to let someone in without waiting for them to realize I wasn’t worth the effort. Didn’t know how to trust that something good could actually last.
But I knew I couldn’t let her go without trying.
I gave Wildfire one last pat and headed out of the barn. The sun was setting, painting everything gold and amber, and through the trees I could see her cabin.
The lights were on.
She was still here.
I started walking before I could talk myself out of it, boots crunching on gravel, heart hammering in my chest. When I reached her porch, I could see movement through the window. She was pacing, phone pressed to her ear, and even from here I could see the tension in her shoulders.
I knocked before I lost my nerve.
The pacing stopped. For a long moment, nothing happened, and I thought maybe she wouldn’t answer. Maybe she’d tell me to go to hell and I’d deserve it.
Then the door opened.
She stood there in jeans and a shirt, her eyes red-rimmed like she’d been crying, and the sight of it gutted me.
“What do you want, Beckett?” Her voice was flat. Tired.
“To apologize.”
“For what, specifically? Snapping at me? Shutting me out all day? Or for making me feel like last night—this morning—didn’t mean anything?”
Each word cut like a knife. “All of it.”
She crossed her arms. “Why should I believe you?”
“You shouldn’t.” I dragged a hand through my hair. “I’m a mess, Libby. I’m fucked up in ways I don’t even know how to explain. And the second something good happens, I sabotage it because I’m too scared to believe it could last.”
“So you pushed me away.”
“Yeah.”
“Because you think I’m going to leave.”
I swallowed hard. “Aren’t you?”
She stared at me for a long moment. “Is that what this is about? My contract?”
“Your contract ends eventually. You’ll go back to wherever you came from and—”
“And what, Beckett? You think I’d just leave without talking to you? Without—” She stopped, shaking her head. “God, you really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?”
“That I’m falling for you!” The words burst out of her, raw and honest. “That this morning when you held me… That for the first time in years, I feel like I’ve found something real.”
My chest tightened. “Libby—”
“But you’re right about one thing,” she continued, voice breaking. “I can’t stay if you’re going to keep pushing me away every time you get scared. I can’t—I can’t keep doing this dance where we get close and then you retreat. It’s killing me.”
“I know.” The words came out hoarse. “I know, and I’m sorry. I just—everyone leaves. Everyone always leaves, and I thought if I pushed you away first, it would hurt less.”
“Does it?” she asked quietly. “Does it hurt less?”
“No.” I met her eyes. “It hurts like hell.”
