I lay there, blinking up at the ceiling, the silence now deafening.

If it were possible to go back in time and stop her from saying those three words right before she said them, I would, because then nothing would have to change. I could carry on pretending that she was perfect for me in every way.

I knew that was a lie, though. I’d known it since our first fishing trip, hadn’t I? When it quickly became obvious that she had no idea what she was doing. But I’d wanted her too much, I’d wanted this to work, so I’d spent the last two weeks in denial, pretending it could. Going as far as interrupting her every time I thought she might confess whatever she was hiding from me. So I could keep her, so I could keep her a little longer.

I could have gotten past the lies, but love, that had never been part of the deal. It wasn’t real. And if it was, I would never, could never, give that much of myself to another person. Freya knew that, goddamn it.

I’d been a fool to think I could have this, a relationship on my terms, that this could work.

Freya stirred and lifted to her elbows, looking down at me. Her hair was wild around her face, her cheeks flushed, mouth puffy and sexy, eyes wide.

“Beau…” There was a question in her voice that made my gut ache and sent irrational anger firing through me so hard and fast my head spun.

I didn’t understand it, the anger, I just knew that I was pissed off with myself and, dammit, with Freya for saying those three fucking words and ruining everything. I couldn’t deal with it. And for once I couldn’t hide behind an easy smile. I couldn’t hide at all. There was no disguising the way I was feeling right then.

So instead of addressing what she’d just said, I let the anger take hold. Because I sure as hell didn’t know—didn’t understand—the other emotions I was feeling, and that just pissed me off all the more. “When were you going to tell me?” I said.

She blinked. “What?”

“That it was all a lie? That half, if not all, of the things you said to me were bullshit?” Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew what I was doing, that I was pushing her away, that I was doing whatever I had to do to avoid dealing with her feelings—and with mine.

She jolted then jerked back, taking her soft warmth away from me, leaving me cold. “You knew?” she whispered.

I clenched my jaw and dipped my chin. “I tried to convince myself that I was wrong, but I suspected from the beginning. I just didn’t want to believe it. You never lived on a ranch, did you?”

“Why didn’t you…” She shook her head. “You never said, you—”

“When?” I gritted out. Jesus, she looked distressed, upset, and I was acting like the world’s biggest asshole, but I couldn’t pull it back. I was afraid of what might happen if I did, if I decided to let this go, if I gave her the tiniest inch.

Her fingers twisted the sheets. “I was going to tell you. I was just…I was trying to find the right time.”

“The right time would have been when we started talking,” I said. “We could have prevented this…this…” I bit off my words, not knowing how to finish them. Freya’s stricken expression was killing me, weakening my resolve. I couldn’t have that. I knew better.

“You care about me, Beau. I know you do,” she said.

I shoved my fingers though my hair. “You knew what I wanted, Freya, what I didn’t want, and right now—”

“I don’t check any of your boxes, right?” She sat up, holding the sheet to her chest, hiding her body from me. “I’m the opposite of what you were looking for?”

Her words were like knives to the chest. I didn’t want to hurt her. I…shit, I cared about her. “Freya—”

“The reason I contacted you, the reason I lied…” She looked down, her lower lip quivering. “You’re going to think this is stupid, but”— her eyes lifted back to mine. “I fell for you, Beau, the minute I saw your picture. Call it fate or kismet, or…I don’t know, but I knew this, us, were meant to be.”

I stared at her, heart racing, denial flooding me, rising so fast it drowned out any other emotion trying to surface, and God help me, I shoved them deeper for good measure. “I can’t give you what you want,” I said, voice far from steady. “I told you that. I told you from the start.”

“I know.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I hoped that you’d…that maybe…”

“I’d change my mind?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

I needed her to understand, for both our sakes, and it tore me to sheds to say the words, to hurt her, but I had to make her understand. “I’m not capable of that kind of love. It doesn’t exist.”

Fire shot through her eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Deep down you know it. You felt it, with me. You may be too stubborn to let yourself acknowledge it, but it’s there.”

What I felt for her wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. I started shaking my head.

Freya shot out of bed and snatched up her clothes. “I’m sorry for lying to you, Beau. I am. You have no idea how sorry, but you’re lying to yourself as well. One day you’ll realize that, and it’ll be too late.” She grabbed one of her bags and stormed out of the room. The spare room door slammed shut a few seconds later.

I lay there unable to move, my brain having trouble catching up with what had just happened and how it all fell apart so fast.

The awful feeling in my stomach didn’t ease over time; it increased. The closer we got to morning and the drive back to town, to me dropping Freya off, the worse it got.

It felt wrong, so wrong. The urge to go to her was almost impossible to ignore.

But I did my best to shut it down. What I felt for her wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.

So, I stayed where I was until the sun started to rise, painting my room in an orange wash, until I heard Freya get up and start moving around.

It was time to take her back.

Freya

The drive back to Eaglewood was awful.

Beau didn’t seem to know how to act or what to say, and neither did I. I just wanted to get to my car that Beau had had towed back to town, and go home, forget this ever happened. Unfortunately, I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

On the way to Beau’s two weeks ago, I envisioned a very different end to my trip. It was unrealistic and crazy, but I’d imagined us driving to the city together to collect my things, that he would be as in love with me as I was with him and we’d move in together immediately.

I was starting to think that maybe I’d wanted things to work out with Beau so much because I wasn’t happy in my own life, that I’d made him out to be this ideal, perfect man, when no one was perfect. He couldn’t make my life better. Only I could do that.

Oh, I loved Beau—I had no doubt about that—but I’d come into this with unrealistic expectations. I’d disregarded his thoughts and wishes, so desperate to fill the hole in my own life. The empty spot I’d had since I was a little girl, desperate for my parents’ love and attention.

I’d done this to myself, and now I had to face up to it and live with the consequences.

Life without Beau.

Finally, we pulled up to the garage. I climbed out, and Beau helped me carry my bags to my car. When it was loaded and I was ready to go, I wasn’t sure what to do. We stood there for a few long seconds, staring at each other, until finally Beau tugged me to him and wrapped his strong arms around me. One of his hands cupped the back of my head and he kissed my hair.

“Freya, I—”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. You don’t need to say anything.”

I can’t give you what you want, Freya.

He’d already said it. I didn’t need or want to hear it again.

I went to pull out of his arms, but they held me tighter for a moment before he finally released me and stepped back.

I didn’t want it to end like this—awkward, full of regret—so when I pulled my car door open, I turned to him and forced a smile. “This may not have ended the way I’d hoped, but I’m glad I came,” I said. “I’m glad I met you.” I knew my smile had turned sad, but I pressed on. “You’re a good man, Beau, and I wish you all the best. Just because I wasn’t, I didn’t…” I cleared my throat. Not going there. “I think you struggle with the fact you left Hank alone to take care of your grandfather, and I don’t think you know how to deal with the guilt you feel over it. You run around helping everyone, trying so hard to make up for it. And in the process, you’ve bottled up your feelings, so you don’t have to face them.” I held his blue gaze and forced myself to finish. “You don’t think you deserve love, so you’re punishing yourself and not letting yourself have it. But you’re wrong, Beau. Love does exist, and maybe one day…one day you’ll meet the right woman, and you’ll know that, too.”

Ignoring his expression that could only be described as shell-shocked, I climbed in my car before he could respond, started it up—and drove away.

And I didn’t once look in the rearview mirror.