He chuckles. “I’ll take it to the grave.” He reaches up to touch me but not before asking me with his eyes if it’s okay. I hate that I don’t move and the gentle brush of his knuckles across my cheek sends a shiver through me. “I just… I thought I’d have more time.”

“More time for what?” I whisper.

“For a second chance with you.”

His words are sobering and I’m grateful for the moment of clarity. “Jacob.” I shake my head. “You’re saying all the right things but… you’re only here because you heard I’m getting married. Where was this energy a year ago? Hell, six months ago? You’re treating this like it’s a game or about the chase, and it’s not. It’s my life.”

“It’s not a game. Not the chase. None of this was a game. I couldn’t… I wasn’t able to come back before.”

I cross my hands in front of my chest. “You have a phone. Why didn’t you call?”

“Like I said I just… I thought I’d have more time. I wasn’t expecting you to meet someone and get engaged in the three fucking years I was gone, Whitney,” he says as he moves away from me and begins to pace the room. “I thought about you every day for three years. At first, I believed I was doing the right thing. That you would move on and meet someone and that it was the best thing for you. I was too old and we had too much history and it just wouldn’t work out. But after a while… I couldn’t get over you Whitney, and there’s a reason for that.”

“So, what you’re mad that I didn’t… wait for you? You broke up with me, and I was supposed to take that as you just needing time? What kind of ridiculous fuckboy logic is that?” I interrupt because I refuse to take responsibility for something I didn’t have a say in to begin with.

“Whitney…” He stops pacing and stands in front of me again putting both of his hands on my bare shoulders. “Don’t marry him.”

I push him off and shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You don’t love him, Whitney. Not the way you loved me. Love me.”

He thinks I still love him? “Seriously? My God. Were you always this arrogant?”

“Only when I’m sure about something.” His nostrils flare. “Whitney, I feel like our time is limited in here,” he says, referring to my bedroom. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Bad idea. “Nope.” Don’t ask again. I don’t know how many times I can keep saying no.

“Please.”

“I’m engaged.”

That must strike a nerve because he balls his hands into fists and a scowl finds his perfect face. “You think I give a fuck? You could be married with three kids, and you’d still belong to me.” Fury courses through me and I push past him finally having enough of this conversation. “I’m done being patient with you about this,” he snaps, just as I reach for the doorknob. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say before you make the biggest fucking mistake of your life.”