“Understandable.”
Just one step and I’ll be in his arms. I can feel waves of intensity emanating from his body, and I’m aching, aching for him to touch me, aching for him to encourage me, to convince me the rejection of that night didn’t happen.
He turns to face the seats. “I used to come to the theater with my brother when I was a child,” he tells me. “Landon would get a backstage pass.” He looks at me and chuckles. “I found it hard to communicate back then, but in theaters, I somehow came alive.”
I can’t take my eyes off him. I remember the image of him as a little boy, wrapped in a blanket, sad and confused. “It’s hard to see you as someone who found it hard to communicate. It’s easier to imagine you as a precocious, talkative child.”
He meets my gaze, his eyes clouding with a heartbreaking melancholy. “You’d be surprised.”
His expression makes me want to reach out and touch him. Instead, I turn my gaze to the seats in front of us.
“My mother was a performer when she met my dad. She’d been in a few shows and even received a few nominations, but she retired when she had me. I think she always planned to go back to work, but she never did. She died, and now it’s almost as if she never existed.”
I can feel his eyes on me. “Not to you.”
“It’s not like I’ll ever forget her. She was my mom. But the audience…”
“I don’t think the audience mattered as much to her as you did.” He searches my face. “Is that why you’re afraid of being forgotten?”
He remembers our conversation. I swallow. “Yes, I think.”
“I said it would be impossible for anyone who knows you to forget you.” His voice is soft. “I meant that.”
“Thank you.”
We’re both quiet, gazing at the seats. I steal a glance at him, admiring the way the work lights accentuate the planes and angles of his face.
He’s so perfect.
“For someone who found it hard to communicate as a child, you seem to know all the right things to say these days.”
He chuckles. “Just telling you the truth, Liz… And anyway, it wasn’t like I wasn’t always good with words. I just spent a lot of my childhood unable to say them out loud.”
Because of the accident? I hold his gaze. “Tell me why.”
He sighs. “After…after my mother died, I had this crazy belief that I’d caused the accident. That I’d distracted her with my crying…” he shakes his head. “I was a silly kid. I thought if I was silent for long enough, she’d come back and my dad would stop drinking himself to death.” His eyes close, and a heartbreaking vulnerability creeps into his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. It’s old history.”
I place one hand on his. “It’s fine. I’m glad you told me.”
His eyes flare, and all I want to do is fall into his gaze and drown. I want him so much it hurts. It hurts to imagine all the reasons he’s keeping his distance. Am I not good enough? Attractive enough?
Why doesn’t he want me?
Do I even want to know?
“Liz.” He’s still gazing at me, almost as if he can’t bear to look away from my face. “About the other night… There’s a lot about me you don’t know and…” He sighs and takes a step toward me. “You’re incredible, Liz, and beautiful and you have this play and your whole life ahead of you. I shouldn’t have let things get as far as they did that night. I just wanted…” He stops. “It was unfair to you, and I wish I could take it back.”
I’m shaking, finding it hard to breathe. He’s rejecting me all over again…letting me down easy.
It’s not you Liz, it’s me.
Of course.
I don’t want to hurt you.
Yet, he’s hurting me all over again.
I take a step back. “Stop.”