Page 109 of Not You Again
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “We never talked about decision day, and I—”
“That was your choice.” Her hand curls into a fist at her side. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, then says, “Kit, I … I’ve missed you.”
Her voice breaks, and it nearly bowls me over.
She doesn’t give me any time to recover, dropping her hands to her sides and holding them open, palms facing out in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry for how I treated you on the show.”
I clench my jaw, holding my breath. Afraid of what’s happening.
Her eyes are open and honest and glassy with tears as she meets mine. “You were so kind to me, making sure I was taken care of in ways I haven’t even thought of. And I didn’t appreciate any of it. I’m sorry.”
“Andie.” Her name is a gentle plea coming from my lips. She shouldn’t be sorry. I was the one who left.
“You said you couldn’t be the man I wanted.” She speaks a little louder, more sure of herself. “I made you believe that. And you’re so goddamn selfless, you left. So I could get what I needed.”
The words claw up my throat, desperate for her to hear them. “Please, I—”
“I never got to tell you,” she says, voice wavering. She clenches her jaw and looks me in the eye, so I know she means what comes next. “You made me so happy every day we were together. Even when we were fighting. You were always on my side, fighting for me, not against me, and I’ve never had that. I didn’t know how to accept love so selfless, so I let you think I didn’t need it.”
The backs of my eyes grow hot, tears forming.
“I love you, Kit.” Her voice breaks again, and she looks away. “I want you to live a life that makes you happy, and if that doesn’t include me, I—”
“Andie.” I shake my head.
“No, it’s fine.” She sniffs, reaching for the divorce papers. “I’ll just … make sure everything’s in order and let you go.”
I stand frozen in time as she begins thumbing through the document on the table. Her hands shake with each turn of the page, and my heart sinks a little lower. I’m not sure how we got here, her thinking I actually want to leave.
Suddenly, she stops, her eyes laser focused on the page. Her lips twist into a frown, and she frantically flips a few more pages. She stops once more, this time letting out a gasp.
“You didn’t sign,” she whispers.
I run a hand through my hair and take the plunge. “Of course I didn’t sign.”
Her hands tremble. She lets go of the divorce papers and presses her palms to the tabletop, bracing for impact. “Why not?”
“Since the day we got stuck in the front row in that damn art class, you’ve been it for me. I didn’t want to leave back then, and it killed me to walk away on decision day. The only way I’ll sign those papers is if you tell me—right now—that’s what you really want.”
Her whisper is nearly swallowed by the distance between us. “What?”
“I never told you much about my life before I met you, and that’s my fault. But I need you to know that I have loved you in the only way I knew how.” My voice breaks, tears threatening to spill over. I bury the heels of my hands in my eye sockets and take a deep breath. “It wasn’t until marrying you and learning you all over again that I finally understood that what I thought love was … was all wrong. I thought you needed some fairy-tale perfect prince to solve your problems and make sure you never knew what it was like to not have something you wanted.”
“No.” She shakes her head, new tears forming in her eyes. She steps closer, close enough to slide her hands down my lapels. “I don’t need you to solve my problems for me.”
“I know that now,” I whisper. My hands are shaking at my sides, and I don’t know what to do with them. I’m afraid to touch her in case she disappears like a mirage. “You needed one thing from me—you needed me to stay. When we were fighting, looking at the end of everything we built, you needed me to show you I would always be there. And I left. Again. Worse—I sent you away.”
She’s nodding as her chin quivers.
“I’m sorry, Andie.” My voice shatters, and it’s all I can do to reach for her. “I’m so sorry I left. I love you so much; I couldn’t stand to think I failed you.” I wrap my arms around her waist and crush her into me. She buries her face in my chest and sobs. Through my own tears, heart aching, I say, “I know I broke your trust. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have loved every single day we spent together. Even when we were fucking it up.”
One of her sobs comes out as a laugh against my chest.
“Let’s start over.” I stroke her hair. “If you still don’t want me to invest in your company, we can sign the divorce papers and get you the money. Then let’s … date. Let’s be together like normal people. I found a firm in Atlanta to work for, and I found a house in Decatur I’d like to get your opinion on. I’m not going anywhere. I want to date you for as long as it takes to build that trust back, because I love you and I want you to know I’m here. I’m always going to be here, no matter how rough this gets. Just … will you be my girlfriend again, Andie?”
She shakes her head against my chest, curling her fingers around my lapels. My heart breaks all over again. She uses her fists to put some distance between us, then gives my lapels one final tug. Her answer is quiet, but final. “No.”
Her lips pull into a sorrowful frown as her eyes wander over me. It feels like she’s memorizing me before saying goodbye. I can’t breathe for the pain of it.