Page 158 of The Finish Line
His reasoning for a lot of his actions all those months ago is the shame shadowing his features—his true weakness, the fear that plagues him the most.
My love.
My fucking love.
How blind I’ve been. How wrong I was in assuming I knew the totality of his fears, especially that day in his office when he let me walk out of his life. I always believed it was the danger that kept him pushing me away, nothing but the danger he could be to me. Over the years, I have been forced to assume a lot of his reasonings because of his evasion, and that’s on him—but I’m done playing the blame game of where we both went wrong.
From this moment on, I’m done with assumptions because with this man, nothing has ever been what it seems. And in doing that, I can see the reasons for some of his past actions.
“You’re afraid of schizophrenia? You’re afraid you’ll get sick like your father?” My eyes pour over.
“The woman I’ve been speaking to, Sonia—” he pushes out as if he’s terrified of the words themselves—“was my father’s psychotherapist at the mental institution. While he was being treated there, she started conversations with me. She could tell I was struggling with the fear, with my own issues. She’s been helping me find my focus when my mind sometimes betrays me. There’s no genetic testing for it... but some of my behavior is indicative that there’s a possibility I could get sick.”
“It’s anxiety and OCD. There’s a huge difference. He was twenty-eight when he was diagnosed, Tobias. You’ve lived almost ten years past that, already.”
“It could still happen.” He swallows. “I’ve got seven years until the ‘what if’ clock ticks out, and even after there’s a chance. There’s a real possibility it could happen, Cecelia. And I do lose myself sometimes. Especially in the paranoia.”
“It’s to be expected with the line of work you’re in.”
“That’s what she says.” His eyes are cast down, and it devastates me—he’s so deeply ashamed. “But she’s more realistic than you are. There’s a chance, Cecelia. I need you to acknowledge it.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes and hate the fact that I called him a coward just months before because the battle he faces daily makes him more heroic to me than anything ever could.
He shifts me on his lap, his knuckles running along my jaw.
“You know my... habits. You saw me get lost in my head in Virginia. I’ve been in several questionable states like that...” His eyes shine with fear as he looks to me, completely lost. “I have no control over if this happens to me. I’m not going to put you in the position my mother was put in, a young child to raise while her husband went fucking mad.”
“Is this the reason you refused me when I showed up?”
“One of them. You’re young, Cecelia. I’ve already robbed you blind. How much more could I take? I’m not that greedy.” With that statement, my heart shatters into a million pieces.
“You take everything, Tobias, because I’m no good for anyone else. I won’t ever be. It’s only you. And I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, I won’t. I’ll never leave your goddamn side. Never for that reason. Not ever. So don’t ask me.” He remains silent, his eyes dropping as I again force him to face me.
“Damnit, Frenchman, you don’t get to hide from me anymore. Do you understand? Tell me you believe me, Tobias. I will never purposefully leave you for that. What hurts you, hurts me. What scares you, scares me,” I murmur to him as he runs his nose along my jaw. “If we fail,” I assure him, “we’ll fail together. You’ll never be alone again. Not ever.”
Red-rimmed eyes lift to mine. “If there ever comes a time where I can’t...”
“Stop. We aren’t going to do that.”
“This is where you let me be realistic.”
I concede due to the sheer determination in his eyes. “We do it together unless I become incapable, which brings me to my next point. You decide.”
“Decide what?”
“When to go back in, if we go at all.”
“And what about what you want? What about my king?”
He nuzzles me. “Still in the making. For now, the queen is the one in control of the board.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Tobias
Opening the hotel door, I pause when I hear the familiar melody of “K.” by Cigarettes After Sex. My woman is in a mood. Grinning, I shut the door and stalk into the living room of the suite in search of her. A freshly made drink waits on the antique bar cart, and I retrieve it, taking a healthy sip.
“Trésor?”