Page 63 of Whispered Promises

“Oh. I’m sure you’re great at it.”

Even without knowing why I’m here, on top of the self-doubt and worry, it’s still hard not to want to make him feel happier. Perhaps this is all just about work, as he’s under a lot of pressure. He’s not confided in me before about work, but maybe that’s what this is?

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Are you struggling with something at work?”

He doesn’t answer straight away; instead, his steps falter, then he drags his palms up and down his trousers.

Shit.

Sweaty palms aren’t good. I’m familiar with that.

Tension builds within me, my stomach churning heavily. I take a moment to really look at him. His face is solemn, devoid of all his usual laughter, and that scares me more than I thought it could. The dread in my gut clenches like a vice, and my throat burns with acid. My mouth parts, ready to beg him to tell me what he needs to say. But I don’t need to.

“You deserve more, more than I can give you, Rosy.” Empathy courses through his voice, a raw sadness that snakes through me, biting at my vulnerability.

I flinch at the abrupt change in conversation, but confusion over his words has a frown deepening across my face.

I deserve more? I’m unsure what that even means. I haven’t asked for anything from him, have I? But somehow his words still pierce…something. A dull ache spreads through me, overriding every other feeling and emotion, like a disease infecting every cell.

I don’t say anything, my body rigid and unmoving as he continues to pace in front of me, from one end of his room to the other. The absence of words is deafening and uncomfortable.

“I’m…not sure what you mean…” I eventually say. I need him to give me something more so I can understand.

“Fuck. This is hard. It’s just…this doesn’t feel casual anymore, and I’m not looking for anything more than that. I respect and like you too much, and I just can’t give you what you need. Please try to understand that?” His voice lifts achingly and he pauses and glances at me. “I can’t risk going through all the heartache and pain. I don’t think I could take hurting like that again.”

Hands clutching at the front of his shirt, he takes a step towards me, eyes glistening with moisture, and that has a zing of venom straightening my spine.

His words should hurt; his words should wound. They felt sharp, so why can’t I feel the cuts they inflicted?

Instead, I feel empty. Shouldn’t I feel…something?

A half-choked sound escapes me, part laugh, part sob. I blink quickly, and stare up at the ceiling, willing the tears to sink back into my body and not break free.

Because, of course, happy-go-lucky Max, who spreads warmth and laughter wherever he goes, wouldn’t want to take a chance on me.

On us.

Am I too broken?

Too much for him to want?

“I haven’t…asked you for anything,” I choke out, some part of me reacting and wanting to shrug off his words. Perhaps then he’ll stop and not say anything else that will damage the fragile pieces floating in my chest.

“No, I…I guess you didn’t. If this is all me misreading things, then I’m sorry. I’d thought there was a spark between us, and it’s not something I can explore with you. It just isn’t something I want. I can’t risk it going wrong.”

There’s a part of me that understands his words, his past hurt and concern. Shit, I’ve been hurt by people too, and it’s a risk putting myself out there. Time and time again, I have had men take an interest in me, only to walk away after getting to know me. Friends drifted away when I wasn’t able to nurture the relationship while caring for the only person who loved me. Now that I’m alone, there’s no one to shelter me from the loneliness. Turns out Max is seeing what everyone else has.

I can’t help the insecurities that rise and take over, reminding me that, as per usual, I’m not enough.

How can it feel so heavy to lose something that hadn’t really started between us? He hadn’t promised anything; I shouldn’t have expected more.

Damn me for having hope.

“No, I get it. I’m not what you want.” My fingers curl into fists at my sides. Resentment is a destructive tidal wave crashing through me. Resentment at Max for not wanting to risk anything for us, at the world for making me this broken for him to want…and at myself for daring to think more of myself.

“That’s—no. That’s not what I said.” His words come quicker now, whether from anger, frustration, or guilt…I can’t tell. I don’t want to try to decipher his feelings in this moment. I’m too crowded by my thoughts.

“It’s okay, Max. I didn’t ask anything of you, and if I gave the wrong signals, then I’m sorry. I’m…seeing Nate.”