But he'd said he was cutting ties. Did that mean he was leaving her? Leaving her and coming to me? Making me not only a cheater but a home-wrecker?

"Cassie."

He was in the door.

"What's your last name?" I asked, surprised my voice was so strong.

And so void.

I watched his body tense but his eyes moved to the bag then cut back to mine.

He took a step in and I lifted my hand.

He stopped and his face closed down. Totally. I watched that mask snap into place and it had been so long since I'd had it, I forgot how much it hurt when he gave it to me.

"What's your first name?" I went on.

He didn't move and didn't speak, eyes locked to mine. He didn't even launch in, giving me crap about invading his privacy by unpacking his bag.

"What's your birthday?" I kept at him.

Not a muscle moved.

"Where did you grow up? What are your parents' names? Are they alive? Did you play sports in high school? Did you even go to high school?" I fired at him.

He said nothing.

I stared into his tawny eyes, feeling just what he wanted me to feel. Closed out and in the cold.

And that cold was cold. So cold it was a wonder my teeth weren't chattering.

"Do you love me?" I asked suddenly.

He moved then, but only to speak.

"Yes," he clipped.

He loved me.

Bullshit.

I reached to the mattress, found the edge of the photo, yanked it out, and showed it to him.

His eyes went to it.

No reaction.

Not. One. Thing.

Seriously?

"Do you love her?"

He looked to me but said nothing.

"Do you have children?"

"No," he bit out.

At least there was that. Daddy wasn't a philanderer.

"Can she give them to you?"

His jaw clenched.

She couldn't.

He wanted kids.

Enter me.

"Do you have a dog?"

He said nothing.

"A cat?"

Nothing.

"A gerbil?"

He gave me not one thing.

I stopped speaking.

Deacon didn't move.

Neither did I.

We stared at each other across the room, her picture between us.

This lasted a lifetime.

"Say something," I begged on a whisper.

He said nothing.

"Say something," I repeated, my eyes burning now for a different reason, tears fighting to be unleashed.

Deacon just stared at me. His gaze dropped to the picture I held his way in my lap. Then it came back to me.

And still nothing.

"You need to say something, Deacon. You need to give me something, anything."

He didn't speak.

"You said you'd give me anything," I accused.

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he finally spoke. "Told you I'd give it if I had it in me to give. You don't get that."

That didn't make any sense.

"You're married," I hissed.

"Trust me."

Was he crazy?

"How?" I cried, tossing an arm out and throwing the picture across the room to make my point. It fluttered a few feet and fell, face down.

"You don't get her."

I didn't get her?

What the hell did that mean?

I stood from the bed. "That doesn't make any sense, Deacon."

"You don't get her," he repeated.

I leaned toward him and shrieked, "That doesn't make any sense!"

He again said nothing.

"Explain it to me," I demanded.

He stood there, body wired and alert, the room filled with something vicious, and...he...said...nothing.

"Explain it to me!" I screamed.

Deacon didn't explain it to me.

"Say something," I snapped. "You have to. You don't get that, Deacon." I jabbed a finger to the picture on the floor. "You don't get that from me. You don't bring that in my house. To my cabins. To my bed." I sucked in breath and screeched, "Say something!"

"Cassidy, you gotta believe in me."

"Fuck that," I hissed. "Fuck you. Fuck not knowing your name or your birthday or anything about your life before me and when you're away from me. Fuck that!"

"You got it all from me."

He could not be believed.

"I have nothing from you except what you give to me when you take from me, and you know precisely what I mean," I shot back maliciously.

"You know that's bullshit," he clipped.

"I...know..." I leaned deep, "nothing." I shook my head, straightening. "I can't do this. I thought I could because I felt so fucking much for you. I felt everything for you. From the first moment you stood at my door when Grant and I were fighting, I felt it. I didn't get it, but I felt it. But I can't. I can't do it. I tried and I can't. And you know what? You shouldn't ask me to."

He was silent.

"You have to give me something," I demanded.

"You got everything you need," he returned. "Dig deep, you know it, woman."

Dig deep.

He was. He was insane.

"You can't be believed," I snapped.

"Dig deep."

"Fuck that, too," I bit off.

He leaned toward me and roared, "Fuckin' dig deep, Cassidy!"

"Fuck that!" I shouted back, so done with this, I couldn't be more done. "I unpacked your shit. Middle drawer. Closet. Pack it and get out."

I stomped to the door and he moved in a way I knew he was going to stop me so I jerked to a halt and gave him slitted eyes.

"You touch me, I'll fight you until I die," I hissed, watched his chin jerk into his neck but that was all I saw.

I stormed out.

I went directly to my computer. I did what I needed to do there, one last chance.

One...last...fucking...chance.

I yanked the flash drive out.

Then I stomped back up the stairs.

Deacon was not in the room but I knew he was there. His bag was on the bed, mostly packed.

He was in the bathroom getting his crap.

The picture was no longer on the floor.