My Dad's Bestfriend novel Chapter 35

Evelyn

I do not want to open the door— That's what I tried to convince myself as I struggled to remain in my place, battling my own inner turmoil.

Why was he here? He shouldn't be second-guessing himself given how composedly he had uttered those words, sharp as daggers, without a hint of hesitation. He had won that round—slipping away effortlessly.

"Evelyn?"

Damn! The timbre of his voice tugged at me, and I resented how much sway he held over me and I despised how much control he had over me.

Anger surged within me, and I wiped away my tears, determined to stand my ground. I got off the bed, determined not to let him affect me any longer.

Enough was enough.

I opened the door. "Why are you here? Want me to book a plane ticket for you?"

Instead of the quick response I had expected, he looked at me, his eyes taking in my tear-stained face and the evidence of my crying. His gaze softened.

For a fleeting moment, my anger wavered, but I clenched my fists, holding on to it.

He was dressed as if ready to leave, yet there was no suitcase in sight.

Was he here to say goodbye? The thought set off alarm bells in my mind. He better not try to put on a show of saying farewell and wishing me well, because I wouldn't stand for it.

"Why are you here, Jacob? To say goodbye or to ask for a favour, like keeping everything between us a secret for a lifetime? I don't see any other reason for you to be here, and I'm not interested in either. So you should leave, or else—"

"I know I screwed up," he interrupted, his sigh heavy with regret, each word carrying the weight of it, “I'm sorry, Evelyn. Really sorry."

"Are you? Fine, I heard you. Now leave," I said, making an attempt to swing the door shut. But he placed his hand against the wall, blocking me.

"Evelyn, please let me explain."

It was difficult to refuse him like this.

"The earliest flight to Italy departs at 12.30. You'd best hasten to catch it," This time, as I aimed to close the door, he stepped inside, and in that instant, I relinquished half my resolve. He secured the door, sliding an arm around my waist, drawing me closer, and in doing so, eliminated any avenues of escape.

He was too close…

"What... what do you think you're doing?" My gaze remained averted, unable to meet his eyes due to a lack of strength and courage.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his forehead gently touching mine. He trailed his nose along my cheek, his voice heavy with guilt, and his gaze wavering, “I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was a loss of control. I felt it was best for you not to get entangled in the mess."

"What mess are you even talking about? Last time I checked, I was there to support you, and you decided to lash out at me for absolutely no reason," frustration tinted my words as I placed my hands between us, attempting to push against his chest, “Anyway, I don't want to talk right now. I'm exhausted and all I need is sleep."

"I am the mess," he admitted, drawing me in even closer. "I'm fucked up, and I guess I didn't want you to see that. I didn't want you to witness the moments when I'm weak and questioning my worth. I only wanted you to see the whitewashed version of me, the one that's strong and confident, never falls weak... and in the process, I ended up hurting you. I'm sorry. Please, don't stay mad at me. I feel like I am dying when you are not around."

This time, he succeeded in compelling me to meet his gaze. His eyes appeared on the brink of tears, and that vulnerability triggered my own suppressed emotions.

The tears I had been restraining throughout his presence finally escaped, tracing down my cheeks, "W-Why? Why did you want that?"

"Because I was afraid that my imperfections would lead you to push me away, and that's why I thought I should—"