Page 73 of Love What's Left
She huffs out a disbelieving laugh and covers her eyes. “Oh my God.”
“I kept waiting for you to look me up online. God knows there are plenty of old photos on there of me acting the fool. But you didn’t. Granthy said to let you lead with your memories, and I thought, if you remembered loving me first—”
She lowers her hands, and the bleakness in her eyes stops the words in my mouth and sends my heart plummeting.
“You think this is about love? I didn’t make my rules because Icouldn’tlovean alcoholic,” she says.
I swallow down my protests.
“I’d have done a-anything to save my dad. I lied to stay with him. Let myself starve. Let myself freeze and bleed. I lived in fear. For love.”
My chest aches for the child she was and the woman who grew up scarred by a man I could have become. “I never asked you to save me. I never will. I don’t want your sacrifice. I want to make your life better. I want to love you,” I say desperately.
“Did I know you then? When you were like that?”
I squeeze my eyes closed before I answer. “Yes.”
She eases off the bed and backs away from me. “How did you get me to give you a chance?”
“Forced proximity,” I admit.
“What does that mean?” she says in a frustrated voice.
I tug onmy hair. This is veering into dangerous territory. “You risk migraines, depression, or a psychotic break if you push, Gabriel. She may never recover from another catatonic state.”Granthy’s warning is always in my mind.
“Say it,” she snaps.
“You know you worked for my father, and I was . . . around. A lot.”
“Painting walls baby blue.”
Among other things.“Yes.”
Lines of stress bracket her mouth. “It took seven years for me to believe it was s-sticking. That’s why we’ve only been married for a year,” she guesses.
I shake my head. “You were never convinced.” Her past, and mine, wore too many ruts in the road for us to ever have a smooth ride.
“Was I awful to you? Before we got together?” she asks, her tone unexpectedly urgent.
I shake my head. “You were protecting yourself, not intentionally cruel. And I was willing to wait the rest of my life for you. My love doesn’t have conditions.”
Her eyes widen, then she scowls. “Get some.”
“What?”
She levels me with a look that cuts straight through me. “Getconditions.” Tears flood her eyes. “My God, you deserve them. Look at how far you’ve come. You d-deserve kindness. If you start drinking again, I’m gone. I can’t change that. I w-won’t live with an active alcoholic ever again. I’ll take a h-heart shattered on stone before I’ll let myself be worn down inches at a time by a life with no p-peace or security or respect.”
“I know,” I say.
“Those aremyboundaries. But if I crossyours, you need to push me back over the line or leave—”
“Sydney—”
“No. You say you’re glad I did anything to survive? That’s what I’m asking from you. If I hurt you again or make it harder for you to stay sober, choose yourself first. Some days, I’m barely holding on to reality. If I go under, don’t you dare drown with me. I’ll never forgive either of us.”
27
Sydney
