“Shark fishing?” His mouth gaped, and she almost thought it was funny how he’d latched on to the most mundane of details. “Isn’t that the opposite of what you do?”
“No, finning. People catch them and cut off the fins for soup and toss the sharks back in the water, usually alive, and the poor things can’t swim or fend for themselves.” Tears touched her eyes, though she doubted it had anything to do with sharks. Not this time. “From that point, they’re torn apart by predators or opportunists.”
He stared. He stared so long she couldn’t breathe. “And then you’ll go somewhere else. And somewhere else again. This is why,” he said. “You belong out there. You’re driven to tears standing in Central Park in the middle of night by goddamned sharks dying. I’m not saying it’s not a worthy cause.” He stopped, mid-breath, seemingly mid-sentence. And then it was like he gave up.
“We’re going in opposite directions,” he finally said. “That’s never going to change.”
“But it can. If you want it to change, let’s change it.”
“No,” he said. “No, because I’m not going to be the one who changes you.”
He was scared, and he was denying it by pretending his decision was for her good. “I took a chance on you—”
“Of course you did,” he shot back. “That what you do. You fucking take chance after chance after chance. Well, guess what? This one didn’t work out. I’m not going to sit around here waiting for the next good-bye. I’m not going to sit here wondering if you’re even fucking alive.”
“I’m not asking for that,” she said. But wasn’t she?
“Then what the hell do you want?” he asked, echoing her thoughts.
“I want to figure it out. I don’t want to give up on us.” She managed to say the words, but inside she was crumbling. She didn’t have answers. She only knew there had never been another man like him in her life, and she didn’t want to let that go. Not without seeing where it went.
But if he felt the same way, he managed to sidestep it. Bitterly, he said, “It’s over, okay?”
“No it’s not.” The enormous hurt that had overtaken her barely left room for words, leaving her to force every syllable through the ache. “You already changed me. I want that. I want you.” She hated her pleading tone, but this was big. Didn’t he get that? “Don’t over think this, Ethan. There’s only one question here, and that’s whether we want to see where it goes. If you’re willing to do that, that’s all I need. That’s all we need.”
He didn’t say anything. Not with his voice, and not with his face. He remained unreadable. Untouchable.
Gone.
And damned if she would beg. Anymore.
“I just have to do the calendar shoot,” she said stiffly, “and then I’m leaving. It won’t take long. I probably won’t see you.”
“I should take you home.” He couldn’t even meet her eyes.
Something snapped inside her, but it didn’t leave her furious. It left her broken. “I’ll take a cab.”
“If you prefer,” he said, just as stiff. Formal. Polite. Not the voice of a man who’d loved her. She’d been right—it was only the temporary nature of their fling that had kept Ethan coming back for more. “But,” he added. “I’m not leaving you alone out here. I’ll walk you.”
He did, not saying a word, and she didn’t trust herself to speak. Not with her heart breaking. When the cab drew to a stop, he opened her door, then handed the driver a couple of bills. And he watched as the car pulled away.
But he didn’t say good-bye.
He didn’t need to.
She’d heard that loud and clear.
And she’d probably keep hearing it for a long damn time.
…
Ethan felt like utter shit. He’d watched Rue break and he hit the ground with her, and despite the hour that had passed and the fact that he was no longer anywhere near Manhattan, he felt like he’d never left that spot.
She’d offered him everything. What part of him could imagine living without her? But he’d seen the look on her face when she talked about the sharks and the seal pups and the Galapagos and he could not—would not—be the man who waited for her and wondered while she was gone whether she was alive or dead. He wouldn’t go through that kind of pain ever again.