Quit Me If You Can

20. Kennedy

20

KENNEDY

T his time, I’m not having it.

Nope, no sir.

I get up, place my hands on my hips, and I spit out the question I swore I wouldn’t ask.

“Why did you dump me?” I blurt.

My insides churn at the sound of my own words.

I notice the briefest of flinches in his expression—and there’s the key to the real and honest truth. But he quickly recovers and rolls his eyes, digging my grave deeper.

“You don’t want to do this,” he warns me.

“Trust me, I do.”

“I gave you all the reason I needed to then,” he says. “I’m not getting into it again with you now. And like you said,” he adds, eyes pinned on mine, “you moved on. So why bother?”

The longer I stand here, the more dissatisfied I am.

Everything in me is begging my body to obey, to walk out forever, without ever looking back. I could leave and forget I ever asked the question and pretend like it never happened.

But the Kennedy who spent all of those years trying to mend her broken heart, trying to calm the demons, trying to forget all the unanswered questions, she’s waking up and dying to unleash her fury on the man responsible.

“Bullshit,” I snap at him.

His mouth drops slightly as I walk past him to lock the door. The lock closes with a resolute click . Then I pivot to face him directly, standing toe to toe.

I’m so close I can almost feel his breath on my face.

Our eyes lock.

“ Bullshit ,” I say again.

“Kennedy, are you all right?” He stares at me with those piercing eyes as if I’m a madwoman. (And I am.)

I’m not going for your mesmerizing eyes, Mr. Super-Lawyer. Uh-uh. Not me. You need to wake up much earlier in the day to derail this feisty warrior! Look, see these lady-balls? They weigh a ton! Oh, I am so angry.

“I want some answers,” I insist. “You didn’t tell me anything back then. Nothing real, anyway. Nothing that made sense. It was so unbelievably unfair, Cade. I want to know the truth. I deserve to know the truth.”

Cade stands between me and the file shelf, larger than life, staring into my eyes. Then he tucks the folders neatly under his arm while I remain rooted to the spot, unwilling to let him pass. “Kennedy, it’s highly inappropriate for us to be locked in here together like this.”

He’s right.

I shouldn’t have locked the door and cornered him. I’m acting completely out of line.

What’s also presumptuous is the way his eyes are glaring at me, all dark and dangerous. Those inked, veiny arms don’t help either. Seriously, does he have to smell that good? Woody notes. Leather. A hint of crispy spice. Some stupid upscale cologne that’s way too tempting.

This closeness is starting to knock me off my game. I’m practically forgetting how to breathe.

But I manage to catch myself.

“I deserve to know, Cade,” I repeat, refusing to let a hint of unsteadiness slip in. “I know you’re my boss, but imagine I’m off the clock right now. Pretend I never started working for you. We just ran into each other at random in a coffee shop, and now here we are. What do you have to say for yourself? Let’s put this behind us so we can focus on our work without complications.”

I know that’s a lie. But then again, it isn’t.

It would be a start.

Maybe with some kind of truthful answer, I could begin to learn how to do that—shed the past. Maybe he’d just make me hate him more. But that would help, too. I’d be left feeling nothing else for him.

Cade waits, eyes locked on mine. As if stonewalling me with silence will make me drop it.

“Did I really mean nothing to you?” I ask with a softness that I hate myself for. He doesn’t deserve to see how much he really hurt me.

“Kennedy, don’t,” he grumbles.

I feel myself drifting toward him, or maybe it’s just an illusion caused by the room spinning around all these hyper-fueled emotions.

Did his gaze just drop to my lips?

No. I can’t let this happen. I will never touch him. Or kiss him. Never allow him into my heart again.

The truth is too brutal.

I know the answer, so why do I even keep asking?

He never loved me.

Feeling myself getting emotional and worked up, I refuse to let him see me cry—I can’t. There’s no escape, and it’s a prison I’ve made for myself.

All I can do is turn around and shield my face, as if that can do much of anything to save me from the corner I backed myself into. Typical Cade. I tried to corner him, and somehow, I myself have ended up being the one with my back against the wall.

I’m angry at myself. Why do I even care?

Why? Why? Why?