"And I don't know
This could break my heart or save me
Nothing's real
Until you let go completely
So here I go with all my thoughts I've been saving
So here I go with all my fears weighing on me"
- Kelly Clarkson ("Sober")
He reaches out to hold her, but she shrinks away from his touch. The gesture shatters his heart into a million little pieces. He has broken her. Now he needs to fix her. He lays his arms back to his sides.
How did you know, he asks her quietly. When did you know? Why didn't you say anything? Talk to me, Montana. Please. I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. We're going to get through this. You and me. Together. I'm not giving up on us. Maybe you have, but not me.
Lindsay closes her eyes. She actually had no concrete evidence up until tonight. She only had her gut instinct and a wisp of a smell on him. She knows that the smell of another woman's perfume on his skin is no concrete evidence. It could have been an easy transfer from their bodies hugging. Tightly. Intimately. In a passionate embrace. Bodies intertwined. The vision sends shivers down Lindsay's spine.
But she had had no hard evidence. She had nothing, as a good crime scene investigator knows, that could pin him down to this crime. There was no underwear hanging from his bedpost that wasn't hers. He didn't accidentally call her the wrong name in the throes of passion. No, all she had was the scent of a different perfume than hers and the look of guilt on Danny Messer's face when he came into work that day.
And that was enough for her to think that she knew.
But for him to be silent when she accused him of the atrocity tonight in her apartment… she felt as though she was going to be ill. He did not deny it. Then again, how could he deny it if it is the truth? His stillness was not a complete confession. Yet sometimes, actions speak louder than words. Silence is golden… or perhaps it speaks the truth when no one else dares to.
She wants to pummel the man standing before her. He shifts his weight uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets. She wants to scream at him. How could he? Why would he? Didn't she mean anything to him? Or was she just another notch in his bedpost, like she had always feared she would?
She had wanted to be there for him when he needed someone, just like he was for her. She had wanted to be there to hold his hand when he felt vulnerable, just like he had for her. She had wanted so much from him; she had wanted so much to give to him. She had wanted so much to believe that she would be different. That she would be the one that broke the Messer streak.
Instead, she had fallen in love with him and she is still in love with him, despite it all. In her heart, she knows that she will never love anyone else as passionately as she loves this man. Knowing this makes her angry. It makes her sad. It makes her tired. She is tired of being afraid. She is tired of being alone. So she lets him into her head and her heart.