An hour later, Booth was still lying awake, staring at the ceiling and questioning why he had stayed. Because she's scared and hurting and she needs you and despite the fact that she doesn't want you, you can't seem to say no to her.
She doesn't want you. The thought echoed in his head. Every day in the weeks that had passed since he'd so carelessly thrown out those words—"I believe in giving this a chance"—he'd grown more and more angry with himself.
A thousand questions cycled through his head as if on a marquee, all of them centered on how he could have approached her differently. There is no different outcome. The answer is always going to be "no."
And there's the rub.
What is wrong with you? Why doesn't any woman you love want you for keeps?
Anger bubbled inside his chest at that thought, anger at himself for not being good enough, for fooling himself into believing that she actually wanted him, that maybe they did have a shot. He took three deep breaths and pushed it down. He'd learned to keep a tight lid on his anger.
He had it under control most of the time, but at the moment he was having a hard time reining it in. Sometimes it frightened him. He was his father's son, after all. He knew what happened when a man who was angry with himself took it out on the ones he loved.
He wouldn't do that to her. This was his fault, his problem. If necessary, he would distance himself from her for a while until he had things under control again.
You've said that before, and here you are, spending the night in her guest room because you can't turn your back on her.
He took fthree more slow, deep breaths, and rolled over, trying to force his mind to anything other than recounting his personal failures.
