Page 72 of If You Were Mine (After We Fall 3)
“Everybody makes mistakes, Theo. You’re not your past. And I’m not a judgmental person. But you didn’t even give me a chance to tell you that! You were too busy keeping me at a distance so you could ditch me and feel nothing later!”
“Because I thought I was no good for you, Claire.” He came at me and took me by the shoulders. “I told you that from the very start.”
“That was my decision to make,” I said through clenched teeth.
“I know.” He closed his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry for not trusting you, and for bailing on you. I’m not good at… letting someone in. I never have been.”
I appreciated his honesty, but I was still wary. How did we move forward from here? “So now what?”
“Now I ask for another chance with you.”
A lump formed in my throat. I was a believer in second chances, but I was scared. “I don’t know, Theo.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I struggled to speak. “Twice now you’ve walked out and left me wondering what’s wrong with me that I keep getting my hopes up. I don’t want to get hurt.”
“Come here.” He pulled me closer to his chest, and I let myself give in to the urge to cry, weeping quietly as he spoke. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, and I’ll probably keep on making them. Driving up here tonight, I kept asking myself why the hell you should give me another chance. And the truth is—I’ve got no fucking idea.”
In spite of everything, it made me laugh a little through my tears.
“But I know that you should. Not because I deserve it. Not because I’m the perfect man. Not because you couldn’t do better—God knows you could.” He paused. “But I’ve never felt magic like I do when we’re together. And I have to believe that doesn’t happen very often.”
I sniffed. “I don’t think it does.”
“So what do you say? Can we try again? Give ourselves a real beginning this time, instead of a fake one?”
I wanted to. Deep in my heart, I wanted to. But I needed a moment. I needed to think. And I really needed a tissue. “Give me a minute, OK?”
He let me go, and I went into the downstairs bathroom. After going through half a box of tissues, I looked in the mirror, groaning inwardly at my puffy eyes, tearstained cheeks, and red nose. But this was me—the real, behind-the-curtains me. I bruised easily, felt things deeply, and cried when I was sad. I had no desire to hide that. If he wanted to let me in, he had to take all of me.
And give me all of him.
I found him in the living room, sitting on the couch, but he stood when he saw me. “You OK?”
“Yes.” It surprised me how steady my voice was. How self-assured my stance. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted more?”
“Yes.” He said it firmly, looking me right in the eye.
“That means opening up to me. Being honest. Showing me who you really are—not just the charming Hottie-for-Hire Theo Woodcock, but you. Theo MacLeod.”
“I will.”
“And it means not bailing when things don’t feel magical.”
“I know.”
“And it means you’ll have to earn my trust back.”
He nodded. “I know. I’m willing to work for it.”
I almost broke down and hugged him, but I remained strong, folding my arms in front of me. “Good. Because this won’t be easy. We’re going to start with one night of truthful conversation about the real you, past and present.”
He nodded, but I can’t say he didn’t look nervous. “OK.”
“And we’re not going to touch each other,” I went on. “We already know we’re very good communicating sexually, but I want more than that.”
“I do too.”
“Do you agree to the terms?”
“Yes.” He paused. “I won’t say I’m happy about not touching you, but if that’s what it takes, then I’ll agree.”
