by Snow, Nicole
His smile was gone. He moved slow, never taking his eyes off me, never showing the tiniest crack in his rock hard armor. My hand was trembling, splayed out on the glass.
It was hard enough to look at him like this, but I couldn't see a damned thing after he mirrored my little hand, eclipsing it in his huge palm behind the glass. The whole world went blurry, sprouting painful thorns.
“We had our time, babe, but the motherfucking clock's run out. I'm gonna cherish every fucking second we had 'til the day I die.” He paused. “This shit cuts both ways, you know. I know it's gonna take some time to get your head and heart fixed. You'll tell me and my advice where to fuck off to, and that's your right. But I'm not gonna let you waste the rest of your life circling the skies for me, wasting your best fuckin' years. Gonna make you listen, and listen good, because it'll make sense someday when days have turned into weeks and weeks have become fucking months.”
No, no, no...
Why did my eyes have to fail me like this? Why couldn't it be my ears? Hot, painful tears jerked at my vision.
“Walk away, Em. Pack your shit up and leave Missoula. You can land a nursing gig in Seattle or Portland or Eureka and start all over. Forget the Prairie Devils and my stupid ass too. What went down happened because I couldn't let you get hurt – same damned reason I'm saying this shit now. If you really care about me, you'll do exactly what I say, and do it as soon as you fucking can.” He inhaled slowly. “My life's fucked, babe. Yours isn't. Fuck, you were the victim here. Nobody disputes that. I can't drag you straight to Hades like a goddamned boulder strapped to your back. Look at me, Emma...”
He waited. Slowly, I did as he asked, clearing my eyes. If he was really this determined, it might be the last time I'd see him, and I wanted this to count.
“Please. There's got to be another way.” My words were faint, weak, defeated because I knew damned well there wasn't.
“There's only one way, and I'm pointing to it.” His hand was gone from mine, and he stuck a finger out, pointing toward the exit sign down the hall. “Go. You got strength and beauty, babe. That's gonna make this whole fucking thing easier with time. You wanna talk about regrets? Only one I got is breaking your heart. But if that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'm game. One day, everything'll make sense, and I'll be nothing but a distant fucking memory. Get the hell out and go live enough for both of us.”
I jerked up. I couldn't listen to anymore of this heart wrenching shit. He was right about one thing: the man had a knack for shattering my heart and piecing it back together so many times I'd lost count.
He wanted to confess regrets? Then so did I.
I regretted ever losing my head and falling for this stern, violent, beast of a man. I regretted re-wiring my head to the point where I knew I'd never love another man as much as Tank, and I'd keep loving him against all the terrible odds.
I wasn't going to stop. I couldn't. If prison bars or his stupid high ideals stood between us, I didn't care. Not one tiny shred.
He'd keep hammering my heart to pieces – that much was given. But as long as I still had a single beating ember left, I couldn't shut it off. If he blew my love to pieces, the tiny cinders would just keep beating for his dumb ass, and only for him.
He owned it all – every fragile piece of me – and he'd keep it if we never laid eyes on each other or spoke again...
GET WICKED KIND OF LOVE!