Page 137 of Snowed In
“No,” I say, embarrassed. “Go. This is all…It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, but he looks back at the car, to where Molly still sits, staring at us from the front seat. “Well. Merry Christmas, for what it’s worth.”
“Thanks, Andrew.” I wait until he drives off before returning to the mess before me.
“Okay,” I say calmly as Sophie shuffles her feet. “What the hell?”
“He’s basically stalking you now,” Aidan grumbles.
“Don’t accuse people of things like that,” I warn. “And where’s Mam?”
“At his parents,” he says tersely, glaring at Isaac. “He thought he’d take his chance. Said he wouldn’t leave until he saw you. Even when I said you weren’t here. Sophie can back me up.”
“And why are you here?” I ask Sophie, who freezes before sharing a glance with Aidan.
“I—”
“Never mind,” I say, holding my hands up. I don’t have time for this. “Isaac,” I call, and my ex-fiancé looks up from where he’s brushing off snow from his knee. “Go home.”
“I want to talk to you first.”
Wrong thing to say. “Aidan,” I caution, as my brother steps forward.
“I just need a minute,” Isaac continues, and he has the brains to sound more contrite than before. “Please, Meg.”
“Don’t call her that,” Aidan says and maybe I was wrong the other day. Maybe migraines are contagious. It certainly feels like I’m getting one now.
Christian catches my gaze, raising a questioning brow.Whatever you want to do,he seems to say. And I know he means it. If I want to go and talk with Isaac, then he’ll deal with my brother, so I can. If I want to fight my own battles, he’ll stand back and support. He’s got me. Just like he said.
And maybe at some other time, in some other place, I’d get some closure. I’d have it out. I’d point my finger and accuse.
But the thing is, I don’t want to do any of that.
I don’t want to talk to Isaac. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to worry about him orthinkabout him ever again. Five years since I left him, and he still occupies way too much of my mind. And it’s time to put an end to it.
“If we can just—”
“No,” I say, and he actually looks surprised. “Whatever you want to say to me, you can say it in front of everyone here.”
“Megan—”
“Or leave,” I add. “Which you’ll be doing anyway in about sixty seconds because that’s all I’m giving you.”
He pauses, his eyes flitting between me and the others. Not one friendly face looks back at him.
His mouth twists unhappily. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry you felt that I…” He stops at Sophie’s murderous look. “I’m sorry,” he corrects. And that’s it.
“Okay,” I say after a beat. “Thanks. I don’t accept.”
His eyes dart back to me. “But—”
“No.”
“Then tell me what you want me to say,” he snaps, starting to get irritated, and I know it’s less about truly apologizing to me and more about his own reputation. That’s what he’s always been the most concerned about. The perfect girlfriend. The perfect life.
“I don’t want you to say anything,” I tell him. “At least not to me. I want you to go home and I want you to tell your parents why I left. And I want you to know that I’m going to tell my mother. And anyone else who asks. I’m going to tell everyone who wants to know what really happened between us and I’m going to tell them the truth. And after that, I don’t know what will happen, but I know I don’t want you to come to this house again. I don’t want to see you again. I want you gone.”
He looks stricken. Like he genuinely thought I would welcome him back with open arms. Like this is all some big misunderstanding.
