But she was having none of that either. “Knock it off, Gavin. Whatever game you’re playing, I’m not interested.” The tears that gathered in her eyes said otherwise, but she turned away from him and headed for the door.
He chased after her, placing his hand flat against the door to keep her from opening it. “Stay, Ella. Please, don’t go.” Lowering his voice again, he said, “Please.”
Her shoulders slumped and her forehead landed against the door.
Gavin put his arms around her from behind. “Come here.”
She turned into his embrace, and he gathered her in close, the top of her head fitting perfectly beneath his chin. And just that simply, everything felt better than it had in years.
“If you’re screwing with me, Guthrie, I’ll kill you with my own hands, and I’m more than capable of that after growing up with seven brothers.”
The low rumble of laughter caught him off guard. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had cause to laugh. “Duly noted.” Tightening his hold on her, which seemed to be in direct relation to the fragile hold he had on his sanity, Gavin ran his lips over her smooth dark hair, which always had a shine to it. That was something he found endlessly fascinating. “I’m not screwing with you, Ella.”
“Then what is this?” she asked tentatively. He could hardly blame her for that. He’d given her more than enough reason to be tentative where he was concerned.
“This is me admitting that I need you, that I’m tired of fighting whatever this is that’s been happening between us for years now, that—”
She drew back to look up at him. “Gavin?”
“What?”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
CHAPTER 3
Grief is in two parts. The first is loss.
The second is the remaking of life.
—Anne Roiphe
Gavin did exactly as he was told, capturing her mouth in a deep passionate kiss that had her clinging to him, trying to get closer, until he abruptly pulled away. “What about the guy you’re seeing?”
Ella had to think about that for a second, and then she began to laugh. “The guys I’m seeing are named Ben and Jerry.”
“There’re two of them?”
“How much did you drink tonight? Hello? Ben and Jerry? Ringing any bells?”
“Ice cream,” he said on a deep sigh of relief.
“Thank God. I thought you’d finally managed to pickle your brain with all the beer you’ve been drinking.”
“You said you were on a date . . .”
“With my sofa and a pint of Cherry Garcia. It’s become somewhat of a Saturday night routine lately.”
“I thought you were seeing someone else.”
“Is that why everything suddenly changed for you?” she asked, trying to break free of his hold.
“No. God, no. I was jealous as hell, but this is about you and me and no one else.”
“You were jealous? Really?”
“Insanely.”
They stared at each other for a long, charged moment.
“Just because I’ve pushed you away doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to pull you closer, El.”
“If you’re messing with me, I swear . . .”
“I’m not messing with you. I’m exhausted, Ella.” He took her by the hand and led her to the sofa, where he sat next to her, turning to face her. “I’m . . . I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” she asked hesitantly. Part of her didn’t want to know what it was he couldn’t do anymore. It couldn’t be her. He hadn’t exactly . . . done . . . her. Stop it, Ella. Let the man talk.
Raising his free hand to his head, he ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly while he seemed to be looking for the words he needed. “This,” he finally said after a long period of silence. “Half a life spent living mostly in the past, only sort of in the present, devoid of hope and drowning in grief. I can’t bear it another minute. None of it is going to bring Caleb back.”
Blinking back tears, Ella reached for him.