The elevator dinged, and Wes stepped into the hall. He was looking down, hands shoved in his pockets. Air filled my lungs in a heaving sigh at the sight of his posture, the way he tensed his shoulders. He didn’t look mad. He looked broken, and that was so much worse.
“Wes.” My voice cracked.
His head snapped up, expression pained, but he closed the distance between us, scooping me into his arms. That he hugged me without question, brought me to his warm body, made me cry harder into his shirt, because I’d worried he’d hesitate, and of course he didn’t. “It’s okay,” he said near my ear.
“It’s not,” I croaked, pulling back, and he searched my face before answering.
“Let’s go inside.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, attempting to catch my breath as he guided me through the door.
“Are you okay?” He sat close to me on the couch, rubbing circles on my back.
Taking care of me, because I found the world’s most caring man and then this happens.
I laughed. “No, I am decidedly not okay.” I sucked in a deep breath, raising my gaze to meet his hazel eyes. “It’s just . . . I thought you knew. I wasn’t trying to keep the truth from you any longer. When I told you I was a journalist, you acted like you knew. I planned to talk about it more, but I thought we had time . . .”
“I thought you were writing a short piece about mentoring for a kids’ program I’m running. It was put in motion a couple weeks ago.” He looked down at his hands. “I know you didn’t intentionally mislead me about that, but you’ve been writing about FitMi and me since we first interacted. Britta, you have to know how shitty that feels. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
I dropped my head to my hands. “At first, I didn’t want my experience to be any different. I was trying to be an honest reviewer. Then I got to know you.” I angled my body to him, looking up and wringing my hands. “And, look at you, you’re . . . you. I had a crush on you, okay?” Color rose on my cheeks at the admission, even though he’d been inside me less than six hours earlier.
I peeked at his face, but his expression gave nothing away.
“But I couldn’t scrap my project, my first real break at Best Life, for a crush.” I paused for a second and reached for his hand. “I justified it to myself that I was focusing on my journey and that talking to you in person wasn’t that different from online.”
His eyes met mine again, his expression tired.
“I know. That’s bullshit, but it’s what I told myself. You didn’t tell me the truth either, Wes.”
He nodded, jaw flexed. “It’s what I told myself, too,” he conceded. “I convinced myself we could do both, coaching and being friends.”
“This weekend, though . . . Wes, I couldn’t let you say you . . .” I choked on the words, because I was about to remind him he’d said he loved me, and I hadn’t said it back. I’d wanted to so many times over the weekend, but I wanted to work everything out at the magazine first. I wanted a plan before I admitted what I’d felt for him for a long time. He looked so tired, so betrayed, that I wanted to say it then, but that wasn’t fair. “I couldn’t let you say you felt the way you felt and have you not know.”
“Britta, you . . .” He squeezed my hand but glanced away, his face fixed, jaw set. “What happened at work?”
“It’s not good.”
“They fired you?”
“No, I can go back to just being an assistant.” My face fell again. “I should feel lucky I’m not fired, but I can’t write anymore. I get it. I screwed up, and we’re in a business where people have to trust us. I’m not curing cancer or anything, but I felt like I was doing something that mattered.”
“I read the posts,” he said.
“You did?”
“I think you’re helping a lot of people.”
Tears stung the back of my eyes. “I thought I was, too.” My voice broke, but he didn’t move to hug me this time. “Is it bad for you?”
“We’re a trust business, too.” He stared at me long and hard, and I saw his expression shifting, saw the frustration before he spoke. “Six months, though? What the hell, Britta?”
“I’m sorry, Wes.”
“Stop apologizing.” His voice was low and cold, and it startled me. “I know you’re sorry. I’m just trying to understand. You could have told me. You knew I owned the company—you had to know how bad it could be if it got out, what that would mean for me. I’m just as much at fault for ignoring my own ethics. That’s on me, but I never thought you’d lie to me. I realize that makes me a fucking hypocrite, but you have to know how coldcocked I feel right now.”