Page 65 of Feral
“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Jonathan,” I strike back, grabbing my keys from the table. “You were never there when I needed you anyway.” I am seething inside, trying desperately to keep the tears from breaking free. He catches my arm before I can escape him, he rises to his full, formidable height and my breath quickens all over again because this is all going wrong. I never thought I would run into him after all this time. I thought he’d be long gone by now, far away from this little town. I guess I was wrong yet again and the realization hurts deeply. He’s always had a way of making me spill my guts out and I haven’t done that in God only knows how long.
“Let me at least walk you to your car,” he says, and the kindness in his tone has me feeling like the world's greatest asshole.
“No, Jonathan. Please let me go, I’ll be fine.” I hate that my voice sounds just as broken as I feel but I can’t help it. He lets me go and I storm out the front door, praying he won't come following and half-wishing he will.
Back in the safety of my car, I look back towards the diner only to confirm that he isn't coming. Regret is now washing over me because I might never see him again and this time, I blew it real good. The tears that I so desperately tried to hold back finally flood my eyes and I let go, leaning over the steering wheel and cursing my luck when a soft tap on the window jolts me from my nervous breakdown.
“You forgot your purse,” he says, and I know it’s too late now. He’s seen me become unraveled at his mere presence, witnessed my outbreak. How much lower can I get?
I slide down the window and meet his eyes as he hands me my bag and all of a sudden I want this man with every fiber of my being. I want to be engulfed in his warmth, I want to be wrapped inside his strong arms and I want to be filled by him until he is all I can feel, smell, or touch. Pathetic, I know, because I swore off love long ago and he was the reason for it. Make no mistake, I don't blame him for becoming who I am today, but if it wasn't for his rejection, I might be on a whole different path in life.
“Thanks,” is all I can muster as I drop my purse on the passenger seat and wait for him to walk away.
“I'd love to see you again before you go, Miranda,” he says, driving the knife deeper into my bleeding heart and the little girl in me is doing somersaults at the thought. But my mind says to steer clear.
Funny how my heart still wins over my mind.
“You know I can’t do that, Jonathan. I’ll be leaving the moment the funeral service is over. You are a priest for Christ's sake, people can’t see you hanging out with me. Someone might recognize me.”
He purses his sinfully full lips and looks me straight in the eye. “We are all sinners, baby, one way or another. There’s nothing you’ve done that God won’t forgive. I’m only asking you to have dinner with me, back at my place after the service. Can you do that? For old times' sake?”
The frosty wind coming in through the window only adds to my discomfort and I just nod, angry at myself for letting his suave ways get under my skin yet again.
“Great. I'll be waiting for you with a chilled glass of rose and your favorite seafood. I remember how you liked that.”
I eye him warily and he just smiles, revealing straight white teeth. “You do remember where I live, right?”
“Will you be doing the services?”
“No, an elder priest will, I won't be attending this one.”
“Why not?” I ask, my curiosity winning over.
“I have a wedding at the same time.”
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude.”
“See you later, M,” he says and although this is barely a date, I have to admit the whole thing is a bit surreal, even for a gal like me.
After the service and back at the B&B, I drop my purse on the thrifty bedspread and plop myself down on the unmade bed, wondering what the hell did I just agree to. Letting a deep breath out, I fall back into the pillows, letting my mind drift back to when we first met, and before I know it I am fast asleep.
Chapter 8
Iwake with a start by a hard knock on my door and look at my watch to check the time. Twenty past eleven at night and I’ve stood Jonathan up. I don’t have his number to apologize and I wouldn’t dare show up at his place this late without calling first. The knock on the door is getting angrier by the minute and I pull my hair back from my face and open it only to be met with his stunning figure and a gleam in his eyes I’ve never seen before.
“So, is this your way of telling me to piss off?” he asks, but his voice is calm, steady. Not a hint of anger as I’d imagine.
I take a step back out of courtesy and he walks in, his eyes surveying every corner of the room.
“I fell asleep, I’m sorry.”
He clears his voice and sits down on the bed, his piercing gaze seeing right through me.
“You are clearly avoiding me, Miranda, and I get it. You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”
I stand in front of him and let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “There’s nothing we can say that hasn’t already been said, you know? You’ve gone your way and I’ve gone mine. I just find it ironic that they are as far apart as we’ve become.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Miranda, you know that. What we had was something I’ll always cherish.”
