He closed his eyes. “I’d tell her to run. That the guy would end up hurting her, letting her down. That he didn’t know how to not destroy good things or be happy. That she deserved better than that.”
Lane didn’t say anything for a while and then he blew out a long breath. “Come on, doc. That’s a lie. You would never make that decision for a client. I’ve seen you work. You would tell her to get that guy in therapy and make him work through whatever makes him fight so hard to be alone.” His voice got quiet. “What makes you fight so hard, Donovan?”
The statement was like a sharp blade in his side.
“You don’t have to tell me.” The sound of a beer label slowly ripping filled in the background. “But I’ve known you for two years, and this is the first time we’ve had a conversation that wasn’t about work. You needed a ride tonight, and I’m the closest friend you had to call. It’s something to think about.”
Donovan couldn’t lift his head or look at Lane. Everything felt too heavy, too . . . much. But the words sunk in just the same. Since that day he’d found his parents, watched his safe world burn to the ground, he’d locked himself inside the panic room. The person he’d been had curled into a ball and gone to sleep, hidden away from anything that could hurt too bad. And what was left had been this hollow version of himself, the man who’d gotten on the hamster wheel and gone full tilt, afraid to stop, afraid to feel anything at all.
This is what waking up felt like. Marin had ignored the man on the wheel and had broken the code on the door to get to the real guy. Now he had to figure out how to step outside the room without brandishing weapons and tearing her apart.
He didn’t know how to do that. He could feel machetes and machine guns within his reach. He’d used some of them on her yesterday.
Donovan shoved his drink to the side and managed to look at Lane. “Got any plans tonight?”
Lane lifted a brow. “What’d you have in mind?”
Donovan dropped bills on the bar. “Leaving.”
33
The letter came the next morning. Hand-delivered by Lane and bearing handwriting that was written on her memory like sweet, painful scars. Handwriting she used to run her fingers over when she’d read through his fantasies in college. And all of her bravado and righteous anger from the day before, the stuff that was keeping her upright, shattered at her feet, leaving nothing but the soft, vulnerable stuff behind.
She took the note from Lane, the envelope warm between her suddenly cold fingers. “Why isn’t he giving me this himself?”
“Because he’s gone.”
She closed her eyes, the words ripping through her, making it hurt all over again.
Lane reached out and cupped her shoulder, the touch grounding and kind. “He wanted me to give this to you. And I know this is hard, and I’m here for whatever you need, Marin. But I’m going to walk away now because this note is for you alone. So you’re going to read it and then you’re going to go to work. And then after the day’s done, you’re going to meet me for dinner.”
She looked up, still stricken at the finality of the word gone and thrown off by Lane’s declaration. “Lane, I can’t—”
He lowered his hand and leveled her with a look. “You will. Catfish and beer are good balm for shitty days. You said you needed a friend. Well, now you’ve got one. And I’m a relentless sonofabitch. I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
She wanted to protest further, but the look on his face was enough to shut her up. A friend. Yeah, she could use that right now. “Okay.?
?
He nodded and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “See ya, doc.”
Marin watched him jog down her steps and then he was gone around the path that headed up to the main building. She almost couldn’t make herself open the note. Part of her had been convinced that Donovan would come to his senses, that he’d show up and apologize and they would fix this.
But this letter wasn’t going to be that. He was gone. Gone.
She stepped inside, shut the door, and then leaned against it as she pulled the note from the envelope. Her throat was already tightening as she began to read.
Marin,
I’m so very sorry. I need you to know that. For what I said. For how I acted. For everything, really. I wish I could’ve told you these things in person. But I know if I see you again, I’ll be too selfish to let you go a second time.
The words blurred in her vision, and she had to swipe at her eyes to keep going.
You were right. I lied to you, to myself. I’ve lied for a long time now. If anyone could make me believe in the possibility of love or The One, it’s you. You are amazing and smart and beautiful and so sexy it makes me hurt to think I might not ever touch you again.
The time we’ve spent together has made me want things I’ve never wanted before. Things that thrill me. Things that scare me. Things that are so real it makes me bleed. But you deserve someone who can be equally amazing with you. I’m not that guy.
Not yet.