It was a wound that wouldn’t heal. He could never be whole.
All those times he had been handed on to the next person were like fault lines inside him—invisible, but irreparable.
Being on his own had been terrifying. Whenever he felt it was going to happen again he panicked, and all the accumulated fear and powerlessness of his childhood broke through as unstoppably as lava.
Remembering how Nia had comforted him, he felt a wave of remorse. How could he inflict that on her? Not just now, but maybe for ever?
It wasn’t fair. She deserved better.
A photo of Andrew Airlie and Nia snagged his gaze. She could have better. Airlie would wait for her and one day—
He slipped his hands free of hers. ‘I’m sorry, Nia, but I don’t feel the same way,’ he lied. ‘And I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I did.’
He stepped backwards.
She looked confused, as if maybe she had misheard him, and then her hesitant smile stilled. ‘Farlan, I know why you don’t trust me, but—’
‘I do trust you, Nia.’
He knew she would slay dragons for him, spill every last drop of her blood to keep him safe. He just couldn’t trust himself to be enough for her. Not to disappoint her as he had everyone else in his life. Because she alone would stand by him whatever it cost her.
‘But I don’t love you.’
The expression on her face was like a blade in his heart.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I think you’re just scared.’
‘Th
en you’re mistaken. I’m sorry, Nia. Truly. But this isn’t what I signed up for.’
He took another step backwards.
‘I think it’s probably best if we call time on this—on us—don’t you? I’ve got an interview in London tomorrow, and then I’ll fly back to LA.’
Misery hammered in his head so that it hurt just to stand there.
‘I truly am sorry, Nia.’ He turned, then stopped. ‘You’ll be needing this,’ he said stiffly.
He held out the car key, but she didn’t move. So he dropped it on top of the photos and then, ignoring her pale, frozen face, he walked across the room and out through the door.
That was what he’d decided to do, and he was a man who knew his own mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHIFTING BACK IN his seat, Farlan glanced round the cockpit of the helicopter, steadying his breathing. Methodically, he checked the instrument panel, grateful for the distraction and the comforting familiarity of the process.
There was nothing left to do. It was time to leave.
As the helicopter rose up into the pale blue sky and swung away from Lamington some of his composure began to fail. To the left he could see the gardener’s cottage, and as he passed over it his whole body tensed. But he ignored it.
He ignored the ache in his chest too.
When he had come downstairs that morning, Molly had already been up, making bread, and he had stood and watched her push and knead the dough.
It was, he knew, harder than it looked. One of those complicated balancing acts between science and intuition.
But, frankly, it had to be easier than dealing with the memories of what had happened yesterday at Nia’s cottage. And infinitely less painful than remembering the stunned, devastated expression on her face.