“Is it mine?” he asks, voice like gravel. “Or is it…his?”
I try to breathe around the thick lump in my throat. My voice is a warbling mess when I force out the words.
“I don’t know.”
My admission rolls through him like a tsunami. His hands clench into fists. I know he’s doing his best to steel himself, to keep calm in spite of the fact that everything between us is crumbling into chaos. But I see the veins standing starkly in his neck, the corded muscles bulging in his arms, and know how much that composed facade is costing him to maintain.
“Wyatt—”
“Just—” He cuts me off with a sharp gesture. “Just give me a minute.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He takes a few steps into the room, until we’re only a handful of feet apart. I watch him carefully, waiting for him to speak. It would almost be better if he’d rage and yell and curse my name. If he’d flip a stool or smash a plate. Anything at all, except this frozen silence, slowly turning me to ice.
I get to my feet, shaky and numb. His eyes flicker up to mine and he goes rigid when I take a step in his direction. I turn to stone.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I whisper. “I didn’t know how… I didn’t want to ruin it… I was waiting for the right time.” I swallow harshly. “And then it all blew up, before I had a chance.”
He nods.
“Wyatt…I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I definitely never meant to hurt you again…”
But that’s all I ever do.
Hurt him.
Some unintentional sadist, an accidental sociopath, inflicting pain without intent.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, two ridiculously inadequate words to convey the regret tearing me up inside. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll say it until my lungs give out. I’ll say it until you hear me, until you believe me.”
“I do believe you. And I understand why you didn’t tell me. I do.” He watches me blankly and speaks in an equally empty tone. “I’m not angry.”
I blink, stunned. “You aren’t?”
“No.” His eyes are steady on mine, but I can see the pain in their depths. I hate the sight of it there. Hate knowing I caused it.
“Wyatt…”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m going to need some time.”
“Time?”
He nods. “To think about what this means — for me, for you, for us. For the future.”
“Please, Wyatt…” I stare up at him, wanting to throw myself into his arms but holding back because the thought that he might push me away is too hard to contemplate. “Say that this doesn’t change anything. Say that we’ll figure it out. Say that everything is going to be okay.”
His face seems to crumple, at that. “I can’t say that nothing’s changed, baby. That would be a lie. And I’m not going to lie to you, ever.”
“I love you,” I whisper defeatedly.
“I know you do.” His eyes look a little glassy. His voice is almost unrecognizable, as if the strain of keeping all his emotions under wraps is physically killing him. “And I love you, Katharine. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes are remote. Bleak. “Enough to figure out how I fit into all of this.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper. “With me. You fit with me. By my side. At my back. In every corner of my heart, just as I fit in yours.”