The smile faded. “Don’t want me? You did a damn good job making it seem like you did.”
Frustration began to bubble. “Stop finishing my sentences. You’ve got it all wrong, don’t you see? It’s not just the dress that’s not me, it’s … it’s …”
Her lip wobbled. He truly hadn’t seen her as a woman until today. And it had taken her pretending to be someone else to make it happen. She felt old dreams shatter, the pieces dropping around her feet. Clay would never love her, and she had to stop this insanity now. If she couldn’t have all of him, she at least wanted to keep his friendship.
“Dawson said this would be a mistake.”
Clay’s eyes glittered dangerously. “Leave your brother out of this.”
Meg ran her tongue over her lips. “But I can’t, Clay, because he was right.” It pained her to admit it but it was true. She swallowed, blinked, breathed. “We don’t want the same things, and I’m not prepared to take any gambles right now. The Meg who went away … not all of her came back. There are parts of me that’ll never come back. Some more obvious than others.”
She pressed a hand to her right breast and saw the moment Clay understood. Any teasing, any sexual frustration he had been feeling fled and he looked both fascinated and horrified.
“You mean … all of it?”
“Yes. No lumpectomy. Full mastectomy, and a few lymph nodes for good measure.”
His ruddy cheeks blanched. “So you … I mean …”
He was so uncomfortable that she felt pity for him. But she’d been right to push away. What if he’d touched her without realizing? It would have been too humiliating. No matter what anyone said, a breast form was far from the same thing. Not for him and not for her. And judging by his reaction now, the only thing she would share were the words. He could barely handle those. He wouldn’t be able to handle the scars, or the sight of her as less of a woman. The idea of letting herself be that vulnerable and watching him turn away nearly stole her breath. She couldn’t do it.
“I wear a prosthetic—a form inside my bra.”
Clay uttered a curse word, pulled out a chair and sat down.
Meg let out her breath. She’d said it. She pulled out the chair beneath her hands and sat across from him. “When we were outside tonight, at the inn, I said you couldn’t say the word. If you can’t say it, Clay, you can’t handle this. And so I stopped you before it could blow up in our faces. You got caught up in it today, just like me, that’s all. You’ll thank me later.”
She wanted to believe that was true, but all she wanted was to feel his arms around her again. He wasn’t the only one who got more than he bargained for today.
“I can say it,” Clay protested, his lips a thin, grim line. “I just didn’t think you wanted to hear it. You hate it when people bring up your illness. You want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
It was only a partial truth. She did hate it, but she was right. He hated cancer. He was afraid of it. It was merciless and didn’t discriminate. Tonight he’d wanted to forget about it. Meg was so gorgeous, so alive in his arms. When she’d rested her head on his shoulder as they’d danced she’d started something that he’d finished on her porch step. He was attracted to Megan Briggs and he’d conveniently forgotten all the reasons why he should stay away. He hadn’t been able to help himself from taking her in his arms, kissing her. It was the damnedest thing. What shook him right to the bottom of his shoes was that it felt so right.
It had felt like everything was clicking into place until the moment she’d frozen in his arms. In a way he was glad she’d put on the brakes. The last thing Clay wanted was to play games with Meg, and what else could it possibly be? He wasn’t interested in anything serious, and it was impossible to be anything else with Meg. He knew her too well. They’d shared too many secrets as friends. That type of connection wasn’t something he could be careless with.
As he looked at her now, he knew it was more than just their friendship on the line, too. Meg was scared. For all her protests to the contrary, Meg was still scared to death and pushing her into something based on hormones and attraction would only hurt them both. He had to tread very, very carefully so that nothing was broken irreparably.
“I could never pretend it didn’t happen.” She folded her hands on the table. “The experience is a part of who I am now. The trouble starts when people think that’s all I am.”
“You had cancer, Meg. You could have died.” She hadn’t, but the spectre was always there. “People worry about you. I worry about you, okay? I don’t want to lose another person I …”
Her head came up and her gaze pierced his. “You what?”
“I care about,” he finished. He wanted to think that what she’d revealed tonight didn’t matter. That he didn’t care about scars, that he was a bigger man. But in his head he kept seeing the surgeon’s knife and it made him feel light in the stomach. She was right. It was better that they stop things right where they were. She might think it was about her scars but for Clay it was so much more. He had his own scars to deal with, the kind that didn’t leave physical proof. And now those scars were somehow tied to the one person he was coming to realize he’d always counted on. Her.
Tonight he’d nearly ruined everything by getting carried away. If it meant letting her believe he was repulsed by her appearance, he’d take the hit to his character. It was difficult enough being her friend, but it was nothing compared to being her lover. Friends … lovers … two very, very different things carrying vastly different risks. Love changed things. Love was like taking your heart out of your body and putting it in someone else’s keeping. It required a faith he didn’t possess.
“I understand,” he said quietly. “If you’re okay, I should go.”
“Of course I’m fine.”
Of course she was. Meg would never admit any differently, would she? He pushed away from the table and the chair legs grated against the floor, unusually loud in the awkward silence. He went to the door and she followed him, picking up her coat and hanging it on a hook while he paused with a hand on the doorknob.
“I’m sorry, Meg.” He was sorry for a lot of things and he hoped she’d let it go at that and not ask him to elaborate. He made himself meet her eyes. She was watching him with such soft understanding he felt about two inches tall. A coward.
“It’s okay,” she answered. “It’s a lot to handle. I knew it and I let things get out of hand.”
She was blaming herself? He stepped forward. “Not your fault. Not even a little bit, understand?”
Her cheeks blossomed prettily and Clay’s gaze dropped to her lips. But her breath had quickened and he saw the rise and fall of her chest. No, they had to leave things as they were. They had to stay friends for everyone’s sake. “Let’s just forget about it,” he murmured, opening the door.
“Good idea,” she answered.
He leaned forward and gave her a light peck on the cheek. “Good night, Meg.”
But she didn’t answer as she shut the door behind him and he collected his tux jacket from the railing. Night had fallen completely and April stars were gleaming in a cold sky.
Maybe he should have stayed. He wasn’t proud of himself and he couldn’t help but think of his mother as he started the truck. She hadn’t been able to handle his father’s illness and had left them both. He’d always considered her weak and unfeeling. He’d always been so very determined not to be like her.
Now Meg undoubtedly thought he was, and he was surprised to find that it hurt. Her opinion mattered to him. For the first time in his life he realized that the real motivations behind his parents’ split were possibly different than he’d always thought. After holding Meg in