How could he have let her believe him capable of such a vile act, such a desecration of her love? She’d cried atop Mount Evans and told him, I would turn around, and there they would be—the paparazzi. Click. Click. Click. I used to have nightmares when I was young...I honestly believe if I were being raped or murdered and the paparazzi were there, instead of trying to help me they would just photograph it. He’d been desperate to break it off with her, but...he should have found another way. With the crystal clarity of hindsight he realized it would have been better to have just walked away without a word than to let her think...
And as if that memory wasn’t enough to rob him of sleep, there were her last words to him—I should have known I could not be loved. How did a man live with that on his conscience? How could he live with that memory and still call himself a man?
Despair ate at him. Not just the despair of knowing he’d destroyed her fragile confidence in herself as a woman. The despair of knowing he’d lost her trust, something precious, something so rare in his life there weren’t words to describe it.
It was easy to say he’d done it to protect her from his enemies. But if he was honest—by all means, let’s be honest at last, he told himself ruthlessly—that wasn’t the only reason. Long before he’d noticed he was being followed, he’d unilaterally decided there was no future for them.
Who gave you the right to make that decision for her...without discussion? He would never have dreamed of doing that with his former partner. Why had he done it with Mara?
The answer, when it came, was brutal in its self-assessment—he’d judged himself as unworthy of her. Because of that, he’d callously ignored her feelings in the matter, and had determined he wouldn’t let her throw away her life...and her love...on a no-name bastard no one had wanted. Not his father. Not his mother. Not his grandparents.
No one had wanted him—the man he was inside—except her.
Pain returned in waves. There is no such thing as a bastard child, she’d told him with fierce determination that first time at his cabin. Was that when he’d realized it was already too late? That the battle against loving her was lost? And when she’d touched him with loving hands, giving to him so selflessly, healing him when he hadn’t even known he was wounded—was that when he’d surrendered his heart?
But not his trust. He’d never surrendered that.
Trust. His princess had freely given him her trust, but he hadn’t given her his in return. He hadn’t trusted her love, hadn’t trusted she knew what she was doing. She’d seen something in him that had torn down the barriers in her heart that had stood for most of her life. But he hadn’t believed she could see the man he really was and love him. No one else ever had, not in thirty-six years. Why should she be any different?
Harsh reality deluged him like an icy rain. You weren’t protecting her, you were protecting yourself. That’s the real truth here. You were desperate to protect yourself from being hurt, so you hurt her instead. You drove her away so you could fool yourself you were being noble. But that was as much a lie as telling her you seduced her on command.
Like an old, old man, Trace removed his ski jacket and let it drop unheeded on the floor. He reached for the SIG SAUER nestled in his shoulder holster, drew it out, and laid it on the coffee table in front of him. Then stared at it for several long minutes. He’d known men who had taken that way out, when the pain of living had made it seem the only escape. No one he was close to, thank God, but men he’d worked side by side with in Afghanistan, men he knew.
He’d always told himself it was the coward’s way out. Had always felt that a real man could tough it out, could take the worst that life dished out. He hadn’t understood. Now he realized that if he’d been a better friend, maybe those men could have confided in him. Maybe he could have made a difference. Even if only one man had changed his mind... But he had shielded himself from feeling too much all his life. Had shielded himself from getting too close to just about everyone...including his ex-wife.
Was that why Janet didn’t trust me? he wondered, seeing the failure of his marriage clearly for the first time. Because I didn’t trust her enough to let her see the man I really am?
With a sense of shock he realized that only twice in his adult life had he ever let anyone inside his defenses. Only two people had been allowed to get close to him emotionally—Keira and the princess. And only once had he trusted. The woman he’d trusted hadn’t been the woman he loved more than life itself.
He buried his face in his hands.