Chapter 4
Exhaustion flooded through me as we walked through the front door.
I loved a good celebration, but everyone expected me to be the life of the party.
By the end of the night, all I wanted was my bed.
I dropped the keys on the table and grabbed a bottle of water while Rose quietly slipped her shoes off.
“You okay?” I asked as she made her way across the kitchen.
“Fine. Why?”
“You’ve been quiet.” I didn’t want to say it, but after her dad made a comment about us getting married, her entire demeanor shifted. She probably expected me not to notice, but when it came to Rose, I noticed everything.
“Just tired,” she said.
“You weren’t secretly hoping I’d pull a Franc tonight, were you?” I laughed at the absurdity.
“Would it be so terrible if I were?”
My head snapped up, catching her gaze, expecting a suppressed smile, a crinkle of her nose as she held back a laugh, but all that met me were her narrowed eyes that lacked any and all humor.
“Funny,” I said, taking another sip of water. She was totally doing a bit. Neither of us wanted marriage.
“Because marrying me is nothing but a joke to you?” Her tone cut through the night like a jagged razor, slicing in awkward places.
I held my hand up. “What is happening here?”
“Forget it.” Her mouth snapped shut, and she stormed toward the cabinet, grabbing a wine glass and a bottle.
I walked to her, taking the glass gently from her hand and placing it on the counter. “I can’t forget it. You’re upset, and I hate when you’re upset. Talk to me. Please.”
“I don’t want to.”
She might as well have smashed the bottle over my head and slammed its broken edges deep into my chest. “Why not?”
“Because there’s no point.”
“There’s always a point.” I tipped her chin up. “Hey.” Her tear-filled eyes met mine, and concern surged through me. “What is going on?”
She inhaled deeply, her eyes slipping shut, her eyelashes brushing against the apples of her cheeks. “Why don’t you want to marry me?”
A flicker of irritation sparked in my chest. I’d never hidden how I felt about marriage. I didn’t understand why she was acting like this was new. And for fucks sake, she agreed with me!
“Neither of us believe in it. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me I love you.”
“So what? We’re just going to grow old together and call each other boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Eleven years, Wyatt.” She shook her head, lip curling in the way it did when she was trying not to cry. “I love you. God, I love you so much. But I want more than a necklace and speeches about how we don’t need marriage.”
“Marriage doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything. It’s standing up with you and saying I choose you, not just in private, but out loud. Not just now, but always.”
“You know I already do.”
“Then why can’t you say it in front of everyone else?”
“Why do I have to? Who gives a shit about everyone else?”
“I do.” Her answer was barely a whisper as the brokenness in her gaze pinned me in place.
Standing at an altar and declaring my love for her didn’t make what I felt for her any more real. Why couldn’t she see that? Her family and our friends knew she was everything to me. It’s never been a doubt in anyone’s mind.
“Haven’t I done enough?” I inhaled, thrusting my hands through my hair, grasping for a sense of sanity. “I left everything behind for you. I stayed here instead of chasing my career because I wanted a life with you. You can’t give me this one thing back?”
“I never asked you to give up your dreams, Wyatt. I thought I was enough, but now I want more for us. I want to matter enough to you to change your mind.”
“You’ve always been enough. You’re my whole damn world. I don’t know how else to prove it.”
“Marry me.” The words were an immovable barrier between us.
“I…”
“If you loved me enough, you’d marry me.” Her voice cracked, and my vision of our future blurred for the first time. We had an agreement. For eleven fucking years, she stood by it. Now she was throwing it in my face?
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Don’t do what?”
“Try to manipulate me.”
“Do you think that’s what I’m doing? You wanted me to talk.
I’m talking. I’m being honest with you.” Her nose crinkled, the wrinkles on the bridge tightening into deep lines.
“I thought it might be a phase, so I ignored it, but with each engagement, wedding invitation, bachelorette party, the desire only grows. I want to marry you because you are my person. I want to have babies with you and call you my husband.”
Babies? I couldn’t even focus on that now. My mind was stuck on husband; the word was like acid. It sounded simple, but I knew it as disappointment, regret, sadness, anger, and every other horrible emotion.
“I love you too much to marry you.” My voice shot out, sharper than I meant, but they were the truth that lived under my ribs. My hands landed on my head before flinging toward her. “Why can’t you see that?”
“See what? Help me see!” Moisture gathered in her eyes, and I wanted to take her in my arms, brush them away, but that was no longer the answer. She didn’t want my love. My comfort. She wanted the truth. A truth she already knew but didn’t want to see.
“Marriage ruined my family. I don’t want that to happen to us. I won’t let it happen to us. I can’t promise something I don’t believe in.”
“I can’t keep pretending I don’t want it.”
The ferocity of her words forced me back. “What are you saying?”
Her lip trembled, and a tear fell from her lashes. “We don’t want the same things anymore.”
Silence spread between us, engulfing us in a melancholy I didn’t want to accept. “All I want is you.”
“It’s not enough. Not anymore.” Her shoulders shook, tears poured down her face, but I was frozen in place. Am I about to lose my Rosebud?
Something broke loose in my chest as reality slammed into me. “Are we breaking up?”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow. Instead of answering, she stepped closer, her eyes searching mine like she was trying to find something to grab onto.
“Will you marry me?”
The question slammed into me.
Marry her.
It twisted through me, dragging up memories I’d buried deep. My father’s voice echoing down hallways. My mother crying behind closed doors. Divorce papers on the kitchen table. Love turning into something ugly and unrecognizable.
If I say no, I lose her.
If I say yes… and I become them?
An image of Rose sitting across from me years from now, tired, resentful, breaking the way my mother did, and us becoming something we swore we never would, flashed through my mind.
I couldn’t do that to her.
I couldn’t lie to her.
“No.”
The answer felt small compared to the damage it did.
Any lingering hope that brightened her eyes dimmed, and she broke right there in front of me.
Every instinct in me screamed to take it back. To fix it. To tell her I’d marry her tomorrow if it meant she’d stay.
But love wasn’t the problem.
I stared at her, waiting for her to take it all back, but we both just stood there, staring at each other, the silence hurting my ears.
My eyes drifted to the necklace draped around her neck. Love at first sight.
“I still love you,” I said, needing her to know.
“I love you too. But it doesn’t matter.”
Something inside me split open. I love you too.
But… like our love was only a footnote. I reached for the bottle of wine from behind her because I couldn’t reach for her and went to the couch.
Her sobs faded into the walls, and all I could hear was the tick of the kitchen clock and the sound of everything we’d built coming apart.
Tomorrow, we would figure out the rest.
Tonight I wanted to forget.