He steps back toward me, lowering his head and looking at the ground in front of him, his jaw clenching as he finds his next words. When he finally speaks, his voice is unbending. “I told you I’d fuck this up.”

His words—his excuse—followed on the heels of everything tonight, enrage me. “Don’t be such a martyr!” I shout at him. “Grow the fuck up and quit using your so-called goddamn defense mechanism as an excuse, Colton!” The words are out before I can stop them, anger overriding common sense. He snaps his head up, his eyes blazing with anger as they meet mine. He takes a step back from me, the physical distance just emphasizing the emotional detachment I can sense happening. I know I’m probably overreacting. But that knowledge does nothing to stop the freight train of emotions running through me. “Fuck. This,” I mutter. “If you’ve had your way with me and don’t want me anymore…if you want one of your cookie cutter blondes inside…then man-up and just tell me!”

He says nothing to me, just sits there, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and eyes staring at me, a mixture of reactions crossing his shadowed face. I’m not sure what I expect him to say, but I’d hoped that he’d at least say something. I thought that maybe he’d put up a fight to keep me with him, to prove to me that I’m worth it.

I guess if I’m going to make ultimatums than I’d better be prepared to stand by them. Fear snakes down my spine when he doesn’t utter a sound. I stare at him, willing him to speak. To prove my words wrong. To prove them right. Anything.

But he says nothing. Just a shell of a man staring at me with eyes emotionless, lips silent, and patience wearing thin.

Anger fills me. Hurt consumes me. Regret weighs heavy. I knew this was going to happen. He predicted it, and I ignored it. I thought I was enough to change the outcome. “You know what, Colton? Screw you!” I yell, the only words I can verbalize to portray how I feel. Not very intelligent sounding, but it’s all I have. “Just tell me one thing before you walk away and move on to the next willing candidate…besides the obvious, what does screwing all of these women do for you, Ace?” I step closer to him, wanting to see the reaction in his eyes, needing to see some type of response from him. “What need does it fulfill that you refuse to acknowledge? Don’t you want more? Deserve more out of that connection than just a warm body and a fleeting orgasm?” When he doesn’t respond but rather has irritation flash across his face, I continue. “Fine, don’t answer that question…but answer this one: Don’t you think that I deserve more?”

I see pain in his emerald eyes and a flicker of something darker, deeper, and I know that I’ve churned something within him. Hurt him. But I’m hurt too. He remains silent, and that pisses me off even more.

“What? You’re too chicken shit to answer that?” I goad. “Well I’m not! I know I deserve more, Colton! I deserve so much more than you’re willing to even try for. You’re missing out on the best part of being with someone. All of the little things that make a relationship special.” I throw my hands up to emphasize my point, all the while he stares at me, stone faced and jaw clenched. I pace back and forth in front of him trying to contain my pent up frustration. “Your four to five month time limit doesn’t give you any of that, Ace. It doesn’t give you the comfort of knowing someone cares for you so much that they are there for you even when you’re being irrational. Or an asshole.” I sneer at him, my blood pumping and thoughts coming so fast I can’t spit them out of my mouth fast enough. “You rob yourself of knowing what it’s like to surrender yourself—mind, body, and soul to someone. To be completely naked—exposed and selfless—when you’re fully clothed. You don’t understand how special any of that is,” I rant, realizing how sadly deprived he is with his choices. “Well I do. And that’s what I want. Why has this always been about what you want? What about me? Don’t I deserve to feel how I feel and not hold back because of some implied rules?”

He just stares at me, his body tense, his voice silent, and I can feel him slipping away. A tear slides silently down my cheek, my breath panting out in white puffs after my verbal diatribe. I don’t feel any better because nothing’s been solved. The wall he’s hid behind for so long—that he’s been slowly peeking over—is suddenly reinforced with steel.

I look at him, the man I love, and my chest tightens and heart twists in pain. This is what I was afraid of. What my head and heart fought over and against. And yet here I am, scared and scarred, but still fighting for him, because Teagan is right. He’s just that good. His words run through my head.

You burned me, Rylee.

You. This. It scares the shit out of me, Rylee.

I can’t seem to get enough of you.

I step forward, wanting to touch him. Craving any kind of connection with him, needing to remind him of that spark between us when we touch and to try and prevent him from slipping through my fingers. Like trying to grab the wind. I reach my trembling hands out, his eyes following their movement, and lay them on his chest. I feel him stiffen in response, a proverbial slap at my attempt to connect with him that pushes me over the edge.

My eyes flash up to his, and I see that he knows how much he just hurt me with that small flinch—the nonverbal rejection that just spoke volumes. He instinctively brings his arms up to wrap them around me, to try and placate me, and I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him pull me into the one place I want to be more than anywhere else right now because nothing between us has changed. And I know if I’m wrapped in his arms, I will succumb to everything all over again so I won’t lose what I fear the most—him. But I deserve the whole him that he’s unable—no, unwilling—to give me.

I push against his chest, but his hands tighten their grip on my shoulders. He tries to pull me into him, but I struggle against him. When he doesn’t react…I lose it. “Fight damn it! Fight, Colton!” I yell at him, desperation seeping as my voice wavers and tears threaten. “For you. For us. For me,” I plead. “You don’t get to pull away from me. You don’t get to walk away without a second thought.” I’m still trying to resist his hold, but the dam breaks and the tears overflow. “I matter, Colton. I deserve the same more that you do. What we have is not inconsequential!”

Overcome with emotion, I succumb to my tears, my fears, the emptiness looming. I stop resisting him and he gathers me in his arms and pulls me to him, his hands running up and down over my back and arms and neck. The feeling is bittersweet because I know it’s fleeting. I know that the words I so desperately want and need to hear—that this is something…that we are something…anything to him—are never coming.

I consciously etch this moment to my memory.

His warmth.

The rasp of his calloused fingers across my bare skin.

The clenching of his jaw against my temple.

The timbre of his hushed murmurs.

His scent.

I close my eyes to absorb it because I know I’ve scared him. I know I’m asking for too much when there are so many others willing to settle for so much less.

“Rylee…” My name is a whispered hush over my now tearless sobs.

I fall silent, my hitching breath the only sound in the night. I lean back, his hands on my shoulders guiding me so he can see my face. I steel myself before looking up to meet his eyes. I can see fear and confusion and uncertainty in them, and I’m waiting for him to verbalize what’s on the tip of his tongue. His internal struggle plays out on his usually stoic face before he reins it in. My chest aches as I try to draw in a breath and prepare myself because what I see makes me panic. Has me resigning all of my fate because I know he’s preparing himself to walk away.

To say goodbye.

To break me apart.

“I deserve more, Colton.” I breathe out, shaking my head as a single tear trails down my cheek. His eyes follow it before looking back at me, and for a moment they soften with concern, his throat working a swallow as he nods his head in agreement. I reach a hand out and place it on his jaw, his eyes cautiously tracking my movements. I feel his jaw muscles tighten beneath my palm. “I know this is the whole reason you have your rules and stipulations, but I can’t abide by them anymore. I can’t be that girl for you anymore.”

I lower my head at my last comment, avoiding his eyes because I can’t bear to see the reaction. Wanting and not getting one or wanting and being rejected—either one will shred my heart more than it already is. I sigh deeply, eyes focused intently on his impromptu pocket square and my mind marveling how simple things seemed just a couple of hours ago when he was underdressed and I was overdressed.

He tenses his fingers on my biceps, and I force myself to look back up at him—glad I did because the look in his eyes takes my breath away. My gorgeous bad boy looks like a child—panic stricken and petrified. I struggle to find words to speak because standing there with that look in his eyes; he looks just like one of my damaged boys. It takes a moment, but I’m finally able to find my voice.

“I’m sorry, Colton.” I shake my head. “You did nothing wrong tonight but be the man that you are…but seeing your exes here tonight still wanting more...” I sigh “...I don’t want to be them in three months. On the outside looking in. I can’t stand by and blindly obey the parameters you dictate anymore. I want to have a say.” He shakes his head back and forth, automatically rejecting the idea, and I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. The grip of his hands tightens on my arms, but he says nothing to refute what I’m saying.

“I’m not asking for love from you, Colton.” My voice is barely a whisper when I speak, but my conscience is screaming that I am. That I want him to love me the way I love him. His eyes widen at my confession. His sharp intake of air audible. “I’m not even asking for a long-term commitment from you. I just want to be able to explore whatever this is between us without worrying about overstepping imaginary boundaries that I don’t even know exist.” I stare at him, willing him to hear my words. Really hear what I’m saying, not just what he wants to hear. “I’m asking to be your lover, Colton, not your happily ever after or your structured arrangement. All I want is a chance...” My voice trails off, asking for the impossible. “For you to tell me you’ll try…”

“You were never an arra—”

“Let’s call a spade a spade.” I arch my eyebrows at him, trying to summon the fire that coursed through my veins moments before that has since been replaced with desolation. “You have an uncanny way of putting me in my place any time I overstep one of your asinine boundaries.”

We stare at each other, unspoken words on our lips, and he is the first to look away and break our connection. He shrugs out of his dinner jacket, and wraps it around my shoulders, ever the consummate gentleman even in the midst of turmoil, but where his fingers would normally linger on my skin, he recoils instantly.

“I never meant to hurt you, Rylee.” His voice cracks with a quiet vulnerability I’ve never heard before. I’d never expect from him. He lowers his head, shaking it subtly, and mutters fuck under his breath. Déjà vu hits me from the night in the hotel room, and all the air punches from my lungs. “I don’t want to hurt you any further.”

This is it.

He’s going to end it right here, right now. Doing what I can’t for the life of me do myself. I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to press away the ache that sears through me. He runs his hands through his hair, and I tremble in anticipation, waiting for him to continue but hoping he doesn’t. He lifts his head and reluctantly meets my eyes. He is stripped bare—haunted, desolate—the emotion so transparent in his eyes it’s hard to hold his gaze.

And in this moment, it hits me. I realize that I’ve been chastising him for not fighting for me, but has anyone ever really fought for him besides his parents? Not for his material possessions or his notoriety, but for the little boy he was and for the man he is now? For the years of abuse and neglect I’m sure he endured. Has anyone ever told him they love him not despite it but rather because of it? And that all of those experiences combined have in fact made him a better person. A better man. That they accept all of him regardless—every maddening, confusing, heartwarming, piece of him.