Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Ben
I was two hours into a The Lord of the Rings marathon when the knock on my door came. I’d gone to church, but skipped lunch, and no one had hassled me about it.
Thatcher had cornered me after, confirmed I was okay, and then let it go. Even if he couldn’t acknowledge he understood what it was like to need space about something like this, I knew he did, and that was why he’d given the hood of my truck a double tap and turned back to the usual lunch crew.
So it wasn’t likely to be Thatch, though maybe it was. Or it could be Flint, who’d been moody ever since pizza at his place. Or for all I knew, it could have been the landlord.
The knock came again, so I paused the movie and shoved my feet into my slippers to shuffle to the door. I pulled the panel open, and before I could do anything, even say hello, Whit Grantham had shoved past me into my apartment.
“Do come in,” I said, shutting the door and turning to watch her take in the apartment for only the second time.
My eyes devoured the sight of her as my pulse pounded at being near her, having her in my space again, even as my heart twisted, crushed in on itself.
Fitted jeans, long sweater unbuttoned to reveal a T-shirt underneath, long hair pulled back into a braid. Regular make up. She was coming to me dressed down, not after an event or something public.
Though I’d made a point not to pay attention, the Internet liked to push her in my face using headlines in even the most news-focused places. She and Jamie Morris had won their Oscar last week—good for them.
“I’m sorry to barge in, but I need you to listen to me.” Her gaze slid quickly over me, then bounced back up to my face. “Can you do that?”
My gut said no . Just hearing her voice felt like steel wool in my throat, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t let her say whatever it was she needed to. There was a chance it would make me feel worse—that she’d admit she never gave a damn about me and had used me all along.
But if there was a chance she’d say something to make sense of this mess, this wreckage, then I couldn’t say no.
“I can.” My voice came out low and steady, an excellent deception.
I held a hand out in the direction of the living room. We sat, me on one end of the couch, her on the other. I turned off the TV and resisted the urge to clench my fists and brace against the moment.
“First, I am sorry I lied to you.”
“What about?” I asked, not to be malicious, but because there had been multiple lies, based on my understanding.
She winced, but didn’t protest. “I should have told you we’d met before when Reese introduced us. I should have told you right then that you’d inspired the song.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I’d only wondered that every hour since the big reveal.
“I was so thrown that you were you when you came to Reese’s door, I just… I didn’t say anything. And then you acted like you’d never seen me, so I figured you didn’t remember, or hadn’t realized it was me. I’d worn a blond wig that night, so that wasn’t impossible.” She inched forward where she sat, angled to me.
I nodded, cuing her to go on.
“After that, I just felt silly saying anything because we were hardly even friends. But then, we were friends, and I should have told you, but I’d already not told you, so I was scared of how you’d react.” She pressed her lips together, her shoulders sinking. “And then, after we started really dating, I worried about the pressure it might put on you, and even more about not having told you yet. That just kept getting worse.”
“What made you decide to tell me in front of millions of strangers?
That was the crux of it, and I needed to hear her say it. She’d used me, and in that moment, she’d made the final grab for Johnson, for the image and the story, and if she could own up to that, maybe I could really forgive her.
Maybe some part of this sadness would dampen.
She took a deep breath. “I’m not sure how to explain it. I’ve been trying to figure out what one thing made me decide, and I don’t think there was one thing. Not really. It was a bunch of little things that had been building for a while. I had to tell you—I knew that. I had missed you so much—” Her voice caught, and she swallowed, her dark brows knitted together.
I’d missed her too. Before the breakdown, and since.
She continued. “At rehearsals, Danes was all over me, and I’d talked to him, his manager, and even the choreographer about that, telling them he had to stop or I’d have to walk. I’d thought he’d finally gotten the message, but then, during the performance…”
A growl of irritation escaped me.
“I know. He’s got a screw loose, and my lawyer ended up threatening him with a restraining order, so don’t—don’t worry about that. Not that you were, but?—”
“I was. I didn’t know it was going on to that extent, but I was worried. I knew you were upset with that, and we had no time to talk, and then, it was the award, and then….”
She sat up straight. “I know.”
“So Danes was one factor.”
“Danes, I wanted him to get that we were more than casual—thought maybe that would help him take me at my word that I didn’t want him. Stupid, I know. Then, missing you. And I’ll admit, the atmosphere—the excitement, the feeling of being dressed up and out with you at such a public event, getting to introduce you to everyone and knowing you were mine .” Her focus fled to her lap where her fingers were tucked between her legs.
“Then they called my name for that award, and I just knew. I couldn’t accept the award without thanking you—both the you I had a relationship with, that I was… that I was falling for,” she said, watching my face.
She must have seen my chest rise a little higher, my attempt at swallowing the gravel in my throat.
“And the you who’d inspired the song.”
I shut my eyes against that moment, anger flooding through me. I battled within myself, searching for the right words, something to dismiss her effectively and be done with all this. It was time to move on.
“Ben, please look at me.”
I opened my eyes to find her a bit closer, studying my face. I shook my head, just slightly, one shake, but she saw.
“Please.”
I wasn’t even sure what she was asking for, but I couldn’t stand it.
I shot to my feet with a frustrated grunt. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I thought you’d come for closure, or… I don’t know. But this isn’t cutting it.”
I stopped at the kitchen counter, straightened an already-neat pile of papers.
She was at my side before I’d heard her move.
“I don’t know what to tell you but the truth.” Her voice sounded low and strained.
I shook my head again, clenching my jaw to keep the words in. I felt them building, pushing against the roof of my mouth.
“I can’t leave here until I’m sure you know what happened. You seem to have something in mind, and I don’t understand what that is.”
I whirled to her, the papers abandoned. “How about the truth? How about that you saw the window of opportunity and you took it. How about that you used me to get what you wanted, and I’m sure it worked, so good job.”
Her mouth dropped open, a sharp inhale of breath, and then nothing but a look so hurt, I momentarily forgot I was the one who’d had his heart ripped out. Her lashes fluttered like she’d been punched in the gut, but I checked the urge to grab her arm and steady her.
“I wish it had been different, Whit. I wish you’d felt enough for me for it to actually be real, and I wish even more than since you didn’t, you would have just been honest with me. That would have made it better—would have made it suck, but it wouldn’t have felt like a betrayal.”
She forced her mouth closed and took a startled step back, then another. She pulled her keys from her pocket and turned to the door, but stopped just short of grabbing the handle.
When she turned back to me, she shredded me. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, but she wiped them away fiercely and took three long steps until she stood right next to me.
“Listen to me right now, and believe what I am saying.”
I waited, quiet, not a blink.
“I didn’t lie to you about dating you. I didn’t lie to you about caring for you. I didn’t do it for a stupid stunt, and I didn’t mean for it to hurt you.” Her voice cracked as emotion swelled, but she swallowed it down and continued. “I had to tell you the truth that night because I’d realized I was in love with you, and I didn’t want to fail you by lying, and I didn’t want to miss thanking the person that inspired me originally, and who had inspired me so much since.”
My hands were locked into fists at my sides—I couldn’t move them. I could hear the words, but my heart didn’t dare believe them.
But why not? She had no reason to lie at this point. Did she?
“I messed up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t handle it well because I’ve never been here before.” She held out her hands, palms up, like she’d emptied everything out. “I’m sorry, but you have to know that I didn’t mean to use you that way—not the way you mean. And I do care about you. Very much.”