Rejection. It felt like a heavy cloak of it had wrapped around me and a weight had settled inside my chest. "F uck him," I whispered in the dark. "F uck him." I reversed out of the driveway quickly. I should get the hell out of here, but my hands were shaking. My car idled for a moment as I looked down, took a deep breath. Took more. "Okay." I nodded. "Okay." I hit the gas. And screamed. "Oh, shit!" I slammed on my brakes hard, my car screeching to a halt. And there he was, standing in front of my car. The light from the street lamppost lit his angelic face. He looked big and solid, his shoulders wide, his legs long and thick. It had stopped raining, but it was cold outside, and I noticed he was only wearing a shirt. "What the f uck?" I yelled. I stared at him, he stared right back. The light revealed the change in his eyes. I couldn't see the blue of them from the distance, but I knew they weren't cold anymore. They were wild, intense, and filled with an emotion my heart refused to recognize. For a moment I thought about running him over. Oh, I was tempted to. It would teach him not to toy with anyone's feelings. Or let him know how much he had hurt me. Then he pulled away, straightened. Slowly, carefully, he walked to my side of the car. There was a ringing in my ears as I watched him stop beside my window. He waited. He could've opened the door. It was unlocked. But I knew that he knew he'd lost the privilege to do that now. He wasn't allowed anymore. I looked at him accusingly as he leaned down to face me. "Kara." How unfair was it that his face could still get a response out of me after everything he'd done? Or maybe it was his deep, dark voice that sounded so remorseful. Or his searching blue eyes. I could tell from them that he'd let his walls down, but not completely. The walls were still there, ready to come back up the moment he felt threatened. "Let me talk to you," he implored. Unbelievable! "Please," he added. So softly, so sincerely it made my heart skip a beat. There was an undeniable pain in his voice that tightened my throat. When I met him, I knew he was the kind of person who didn't say please. And I was right. What made him say it now? I didn't trust him. My mind rejected anything to do with him. It was telling me to drive away, forget about him. Do the logical thing. But my heart was screaming something else. "I..." he lifted his hand, as if he was going to offer it to me to hold, but his hand fell away instead. "You can drive away now, and I would understand. But..." I saw his throat working. His hand shook as he rubbed his mouth. "Please don't." I looked at his eyes directly. "You're a piece of shít," I said. "I know." "Why should I listen to you?" "You shouldn't." "All right. I'm f ucking out." "Kara." I took a deep breath. It sounded shaky. I licked my lips. They felt dry. "Open your window." I cracked it open a little bit. "A little more," he said. Was there a hint of a smile on his mouth? How dare he smile right now? "Will you come out of the car and talk to me?" "That depends." He waited. Oh, I knew he could be infuriatingly patient. We were complete opposites. I didn't have any. But that wasn't what mattered now. Why should I give him a chance? Why should I listen to him now? There was no explanation. My body was already doing it before I even made up my mind. He moved away as I pushed the door open, got out of the car. I stepped away from him. Far, far away from his reach. "Talk," I said. As coldly as I could. "Will you look at me?" "No," I said, crossing my arms across my chest. "I will not look at you." But he waited. As patient as a cat. I blew out a loud breath and glared up at him. "What?" "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Kara." My traitorous heart jumped in my chest. He was releasing the heaviness wrapped around it, melting it away. I fought it. Fought it hard. "You think saying sorry is enough?" He looked down for a moment, then lifted his eyes back up to mine. He looked like a man fighting with himself. Since I'd met him, he'd always looked confident, sure of himself. But now as he stood in front of me, he looked uncertain for the first time. He opened his mouth, about to say something, then closed it. He looked up to the sky, blew out a frustrated breath. Rubbed his hand on his face. I wanted to tell him to spit it out whatever the hell he wanted to say to me, but I was afraid he'd closed up again if I did. I shouldn't be with this man. I shouldn't give him another chance, but the raw need I saw in his face—the need for me to stay and listen to him was clear to me. And it struck something in my heart. Your heart can't be trusted. "I've never felt the way I feel about you with anyone before. And..." He raked his hands in his silky dark hair. "And it's f ucking killing me. I don't want to screw it up, but I... I don't know where I'm going with this."