Page 90 of Ink & Desire
It takes me a second to process what he’s saying. When I do, I’m surprised and a little hurt. He’s backing out? “Why? Did something happen?”
He shakes his head, still not meeting my gaze. “It’s just not a good time for me to leave. That’s all.”
I know that’s not the reason he’s doing this. There’s something more that he’s not telling me, but I don’t know how to get him to open up. He’s never been the kind of man to talk about what he’s feeling, but he’s never shut me out quite like this. I also know him well enough to know that if I keep pushing him, he’ll feel cornered and lash out. The best thing I can do is give him time to come to me. No matter how much I want to badger him for the truth.
“Okay,” I say. “Will you drive me to the airport in the morning?”
“That’s all you have to say?” he asks.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Corbin,” I say, suddenly tired of this whole conversation. “I can’t force you to go if you don’t want to. Maybe some time apart is what you need. We can talk when I get back.”
His laugh is derisive. “Talk. Right. That’s what you do best.”
The comment hits me harder than I expected, making me recoil slightly. Part of me wants to tell him off, but the rest of me realizes what he’s doing.
“Why are you trying to pick a fight right now?” I ask. “I said it’s fine, and it is.”
“You say that, but you don’t mean it,” he says. “I can tell.”
“I’m not doing this with you tonight,” I say. “We can talk when I get back from New York.”
“Do you even want to go to this thing?” he asks, confusing me with the change of subject. “Because you don’t seem excited to go. How am I supposed to be happy to go if you seem like you’re dreading it?”
“It’s not that I’m dreading it, exactly,” I say. “I’m excited to see my mom. I just don’t like the spectacle of this party, even though I know it’s necessary.”
“That’s another thing,” he says. “What is this black-tie family thing, anyway? You haven’t told me shit about it. What kind of family event is black-tie?”
“I was going to explain everything tomorrow,” I say. “My mother’s company—the Bradshaw Foundation—hosts a huge charity gala every year. It’s for a good cause and benefits a lot of people.”
“And you’re expected to be there?” he asks. “Why? You don’t work for them, Avery.”
“I have to be there,” I say. “It’s a lot to explain. My family is complicated.”
“It’s always complicated. Life is complicated. It’s messy, and raw, and sometimes it’s fucking hard.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I ask, feeling my temper finally begin to rise.
He scoffs. “I think you believe you do. But you don’t know the first thing about real hardship.”
Of course, that’s what he thinks of me. It’s not like I’ve given him any reason to think differently. Still, it hurts that he can’t see past my family’s money to realize that I’m more than some rich girl.
“I guess that’s what you would think.”
“So, tell me,” he says. “Tell me what I’m supposed to think.”
“I think you want me to be someone I’m not.”
“God damn it, Avery. Do you even know whatyouwant? You claim you want to be a tattoo artist, but you’re dropping it the second your mother calls you to go to some fancy party. You say you want to break away from her expectations, but I don’t see you trying that hard to do it. So, which is it? You want to be an artist? Or do you just care about what they think of you?”
“You don’t understand.”
“No. I don’t fucking understand. Do you?”
I know I could explain it to him. I could tell him the whole dark story and maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d apologize and agree to come with me tomorrow. Maybe he’d go back to being the man he’s been for the last two weeks. The one who makes me laugh and holds my hand just because. The one I was falling for. But I don’t want that. I don’t want him to come with me out of pity or obligation. It’s clear that something happened tonight to make him change his mind about coming with me to meet my mother. He won’t tell me what it was, but it doesn’t matter. It’s so obvious now. I feel like such an idiot.
“This isn’t going to work, is it?” I whisper. “You and me. We were never going to work, were we?”
Corbin sits there silently, not moving, not looking at me. I wait for him to say something, to argue with my words. I wait for him to do or say something to show me he wants this to work. But he doesn’t say anything. That hurts me more than any angry words could have.