She makes a frustrated sound, slapping her hands on the table. “Did you ask me here just so I wouldn’t make a scene? Really? You had to choose the first place we ever went to? What, being an asshole wasn’t enough, you had to make it fucking personal?”
God, even like this, she’s beautiful. Even when she’s hating me. My hands itch to touch her, to take away every ounce of pain I’ve caused and tell her this isn’t what I want at all, and I have to keep them clenched tight beside me just to keep from doing so. It feels impossible to imagine never touching her again, torturous—but torture is exactly what I have to look forward to. There’s no coming back from this.
I keep reminding myself that I’m doing this for her. Even if it hurts like hell.
“I really am sorry,” I offer quietly, not knowing what else to say.
What else is there to say?
“You’re sorry,” she echoes dryly. “Perfect. That means a lot.”
“Mackenzie, I—”
She grabs her coat, gathering it up hastily as she starts to slide out of the booth. “Just save it, Noah. Seriously. I get it.” She shoves her arms through the sleeves of her coat, untrapping her hair from the collar. The motion brings about a wave of her scent, and it’s less bright, almost bitter. It’s painful, knowing I’m to blame. “You didn’t want a scene, right? So let’s just cut this short.” She chuffs out another spiteful laugh. “We had a good time, right? We enjoyed our little addendum? No harm, no foul, really.”
“No, Mackenzie, that’s not what I—”
She pulls her coat tight, casting me one last hard expression, and I know it’ll be the last of her I’ll ever see. “Congrats on the new job, Dr. Taylor.”
I watch her walk away from me, seeing the way she wipes at her eyes while everything I am fights my decision to keep still. Part of me wonders if there had been another choice, if somehow we could have figured things out—but the more rational part of me knows that Dennis wouldn’t have stopped until he ruined my life and Mackenzie’s for good measure.
So I say nothing, and I do nothing, feeling all the happiness I’ve gained in the last few weeks ebb out of me slowly, leaving me empty and hollow, most likely never to be seen again. Mackenzie doesn’t look back as she storms out of the café, and for a long time after she’s gone, I remain frozen at the table, letting it sink in that she’s gone. That she’ll never come back, and that I’ll always be a bad memory for her.
It’s almost funny how badly I had wanted to avoid complications like this. How I found them, anyway. How I’d do anything to get them back.
A bitter laugh bubbles out of me. Complicated.
Turns out there’s nothing more complicated than love.
* * *
?The hospital in Albuquerque is ecstatic to hear that I’m accepting the position—and two months ago, I would have been too. Instead of celebrating, I’m hiding away in my house, trying not to think about all the places inside it that Mackenzie’s been.
My bedroom is unbearable; her scent still clings to my sheets, offering both relief and pain, and after three days, I gave up trying to sleep in there, resigned to the couch until she fades or I move. Whichever comes first. There isn’t a moment that passes that I don’t want to call her and apologize, to explain everything and beg her to forgive me, but every time I pick up the phone with that intention, I remember how easy it would be for Dennis to destroy her career. How it would be entirely my fault if he was to do so. Ultimately, being with me isn’t worth being robbed of everything she’s worked so hard for, and I know that.
Which is why I’ve spent every moment I’m not working this past week wallowing in my armchair with a drink in my hand. It helps, but only a little.
I think that what I hadn’t considered before forcing Mackenzie to walk away from me was just how much she’s left a mark on me, how much I would feel it when she was gone. I reason that there had been no time to consider it, since I spent the first few weeks of our arrangement refusing to acknowledge that I’d been fighting a losing battle from the start—because I was, I now realize. From the moment Mackenzie asked me for a stupid selfie . . . I never stood a chance. She’s just too good, too perfect, and there was never any possibility that I wouldn’t completely fall for her.
It’s almost laughable that I would only fully realize it after there’s no chance to tell her.
Tonight is no different; I’m two drinks in while staring at the fire and feeling sorry for myself, but unlike every other night between the café and now—I can hear my cell phone trilling on the side table by my chair, the irritating ring grating my nerves. I pick it up with every intention of silencing it, since there’s no chance it will be the one person I want to talk to, but the name on the screen makes me pause, and I wrestle with the decision to ignore or pick up for at least twenty seconds before I sigh and answer the call.