“I was worried,” he says, his voice groggy from the other side of the sofa as I push open the door. The lights are off. He’s been waiting for me, in the dark.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I pull out my phone to check if I missed any messages, but he didn’t text. He’s standing close to me when I look up; just not close enough to touch. That’s good. This will be easier if he doesn’t touch me.
“I didn’t text. I figured you wouldn’t see it until now anyhow,” he says, his grin that lopsided one he wears when he’s unsure of himself. He used to wear it a lot for me, in the beginning.
“I’m moving out,” I say. I practiced this all the way home. I took a cab, but made it drop me off a block away so I had time to talk to myself as I walked down the street. Every time I practiced, this was always the best plan—to say it, and to say it fast.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, stepping closer. I step back once. He stops, and his eyes—oh god, they are so sad right now.
“Houston, I don’t know what’s going to happen, with the video. But I need to be able to focus on that, when the shit hits the fan,” I say. I wish my head didn’t hurt. I need to be on my game right now, and I’m not. My words are thin—this isn’t enough. I’m not saying enough. Everything hurts.
My heart…it hurts.
“Let me help,” he says. He always has an answer for every worry.
I close my eyes, but keep my hands up, guarding myself. I can’t let him touch me. I’ll never be able to leave if he touches me.
“That’s sweet, Houston. But I think maybe we rushed into things a little. This…living here—it’s going to distract me. And it’s not your fault. ” I’m just saying words, trying to string something brave together.
“I love you, Paige,” he says. The sound of his voice reaches into my chest and squeezes, so hard I think I might fall if I tried to walk. Joyce’s words play on repeat through my head, as does the flash of evil on Chandra’s face. If I stay here, can I promise I feel the same? And is it worth his daughter losing everything?
“No,” I shake my head. “You don’t, Houston. We were both…caught up.”
He rushes me when I’m weak, his hands finding my face, his thumbs stroking my cheek, his eyes penetrating mine. I’m locked in his hold, held hostage by his stare, and I need to pass this test. If I fail, he won’t let me go—and then I’ll ruin them all.
“Don’t run, Paige. And don’t lie—not to me. I love you, and you know I love you. You feel it. You feel it right here,” he says, pressing my palm flat against my chest, his hand over mine, my heart beating through us both. “And you love me too.”
“I don’t,” I say quickly. That’s my plan. Say the words that hurt quickly.
“Bullshit,” he says, his voice growing louder. He presses his lips to mine, his tongue working its way through my tight lips, which ultimately submit and betray me. His kiss feels amazing. It feels like home. And I have to stop it—now!
With a hard push, I break free from his hold and step away until my back is flush to the door I just walked through. Houston starts to step toward me again, but I hold up my hand.
“Don’t, Houston. Please,” I say. My voice is forceful, but my emotions are in check. I won’t cry, even though everything inside me hurts and is begging to pound on his chest, to commit treason against all of those things I know I’m supposed to do. I can’t stay here; I can’t be with Houston just because I want to. That…it isn’t enough. I promised Joyce I wouldn’t string him along if I couldn’t love him as much as he loves me.
I can’t. And even if I could—the Campbells would find out, and take away Leah’s trust.
“Say it,” he says. He’s crying now. As dark as it is, I don’t need to see his eyes to know. I hear it—his voice is ragged, and desperate. “Say it, Paige. Say you don’t love me. Make me believe it.”
“I’m sorry, Houston. But I don’t love you,” I say. I don’t cry. I don’t break. My words are calm and even, despite the absolute hell I’m living inside. I may as well have stabbed him in the heart with my words. He takes a step back, his face flinching in shock, and I know that I’ve sold it. He believes me.
A full minute passes—time filled with nothing but the way Houston is looking at me right now. I stand in place, my arms folded across my body, my eyes open and on his. He leans back against the counter, stretching his arms to either side, his hands gripping the edge as he stares into me. He’s waiting for me to break, for both of us to wake up, and for this not to be real.