Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
"I never would have left that day had I known…" He swallows hard.
"Had you known what? That you couldn't just waltz back into my life whenever you decided?" I hop up from the couch, pacing across the small room to put a little distance between us. "You may look like the same man you were back then, but I'm not the same girl, Grayson. You stopped being the center of my world when…"
"When what?"
"Doesn't matter," I quickly mutter. Sooner or later, I'll have to tell him about Brinley. But not yet. Not today.
"It matters to me. You matter to me."
I spin to face him, fury churning through me. "I matter to you? Did I matter when you left me when I needed you most, Grayson? Did I matter when you broke me? I've spent six years grieving you, wondering what happened to you. Only to find out that you…" I break off, choking on a sob. "Did you ever care at all or was I just a game to you? Just something to do until something better came along?"
"Mina," he whispers, striding toward me, his hands extended. Only then do I notice the scars across the backs of them. They disappear into his sleeves, an army of burn marks, as if his flesh nearly melted from his bones. They draw me up short, stealing my breath. Right up until he's standing in front of me, anyway, reaching for me again.
I stumble back a step, trying to keep him from touching me. Because if he does, if I feel those powerful arms around me, I'll crumble, dammit all. I have no willpower when it comes to him. I never have.
He's the only thing I've ever wanted. From the very first moment I set eyes on him, I wanted him. I never stopped. Not when my father cut me off. Not when I thought he was dead. Not even now, when he's standing in front of me, living proof that he never felt the same fierce love for me.
He was everything to me. And I was something so easily left behind for him.
"You kept me alive," he rasps, his eyes locked on my face. "When I lost everything, I clung to the image of you. When I couldn't remember my own goddamn name, I remembered your laugh. I'm here because of you, baby."
"And I've been in hell for six years," I whisper. "I waited for six years. I prayed for six years. I looked for you for six years. Where were you, Grayson? What happened?"
"I…" He shoves a hand through his long hair. "I don't remember everything, Mina."
"Right," I mutter.
"I'm serious. I woke up in a hospital in Mexico six years ago with no memories."
I stare at him in disbelief. "And what? You just magically ended up on that stage tonight? You just magically remembered me tonight?"
"I looked for you," he growls. "I tore Mexico apart looking for you. I came back here looking for you. But I couldn't fucking remember you."
"So you remembered me, but you didn't remember me?" As if that makes any sense. I shake my head, crossing my arms. "Right."
"No, goddammit. That's not what I'm saying. You haunted me, but I couldn't remember who you were. I looked, but I didn't know who I was looking for or if you even existed. I thought…" he trails off.
"Thought what?"
"That you were a figment of my imagination," he says bluntly. "Something my mind conjured up because I needed something about my fucking life to be real."
The way he says it…I almost believe him. Almost. Except he could never lie to me. I was always able to see straight through him. He's lying right now. I don't know why. I don't even know what parts of his story are made up. I don't guess it really matters. All that matters is that he's standing in front of me, real. And he's lying.
And I'm so damn tired. I can't do this anymore. I can't be here, standing in front of him when just looking at his gorgeous face hurts. I need to get out of here before I break. I feel it coming. The cracks are already forming.
"You have a concert," I mutter. "You should go do that."
"Mina, please," he pleads quietly. "Let me explain."
"You explained." I turn for the door. "I don't believe you. So I'm going home, and I'm going to pretend tonight didn't happen. I'm going to tell myself you died six years ago, and I didn't spend the last six years of my life mourning a man who never loved me. That's what I need to believe right now."
Because the truth is too damn tragic. I'm still in love with a man who spent six years letting me think he was dead. One who can't even tell me the truth now.