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Jesus, this girl will not give me a break.
I follow her into the subway, and we both swipe our cards and walk through the turnstiles. Once we’re on the platform, I grab her hand and pull her toward me. She tries to wiggle her hand out of mine, but I tighten my grip. The feel of her skin sends a pulse of electricity through me, and I almost lose my train of thought.
“Did you talk to Garret about getting back together?”
She glares at me. “No.”
My eyebrows pull together. “I don’t see how I could have misunderstood the messages I saw.”
“Well, you did.” She gives her hand another jerk to try and pull away from me, and this time I let her.
“I’m sorry.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, and there’s a fucking storm brewing in them. I take advantage of the fact that she’s giving me her attention and add, “For the record, I didn’t fuck you and drop you. I was pissed, and I lashed out, and if those texts didn’t mean what I thought they meant, you didn’t deserve it.” It’s a contingent apology, but without knowing what happened between her and Garret, it’s the best I can offer.
Her eyes are glossy, and I know she’s fighting back tears. I hate myself for making her cry. I reach out to touch her cheek, but I wish I hadn’t. She steps away from me, and I’m not sure what else I can say.
“It doesn’t matter,” she says as she hastily wipes a runaway tear from her cheek. “You crossed the line, Aiden.”
I’ve never been on this end of things. I’ve never had to regret my actions. Even when I’ve had my heart ripped out, I always had a clear conscience.
This is so much fucking worse.
The subway arrives, and the doors slide open. I half expect Claire to get pissed at me for getting on the train, but she doesn’t say anything when I follow her. She sits in one of the empty seats while I stand a safe distance away clutching the handrail.
I can’t help watching her as she looks down and smooths her hands over the bag in her lap. She’s avoiding my stare, but the lack of eye contact allows me to finally take her in. Her knee bounces as she stares down at the floor of the subway, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The bun on her head leaves loose strands around her face, and the concert t-shirt she’s wearing could probably swallow her whole, but it doesn’t matter.
Claire Ackerman is beautiful.
86
Claire
I can feel him watching me, and it’s getting harder not to look at him. He’s so calm, and even though I’m still angry, I find it refreshing. Like he’s the cool ocean waves wrapping around my sunburned skin—it feels nice to have him here until I remember he comes with rip-currents and sharp rocks.
Slowly, I dare to steal a glance his way, but he isn’t looking at me like I thought he’d be. His eyes are downcast, and seeing him this way leaves a pang in my gut. I know I shouldn’t consider anything he’s said, but I can’t help mulling over his words.
He saw the drunk texts from Garret—the texts that talked about us getting back together and having crazy makeup sex.
But he was so cruel.
None of it feels justified.
The longer I stare at him, the more I’m convinced that he resembles a reflection of myself. Both of us are broken and full of regret. His remorse practically drips off of him as he stares down, seemingly consumed by his thoughts.
Then he lifts his gaze, and as much as I want to, I can’t tear my eyes away. Those blue eyes pin me in place the same way they always have, and I’m too intrigued to know what lies behind them to do anything about it. Locking eyes with him steals the breath from my lungs and makes my heart race. The longer he looks at me, the harder it beats in my chest. My lips part, looking for words that won’t come, and when he mouths, “Can I sit?” all I can do is nod.
His body carefully moves into the seat next to me, and I try not to notice the home-like feeling of familiarity that washes over me as it does.
“I didn’t answer your calls,” I say quietly.
“Yeah,” he scratches the side of his head. “I noticed.”
Tilting my head to look at him, I add, “But you came all the way here anyway.”
He shifts his weight uncomfortably but says nothing.
Doing the math in my head, I ask, “Did you fly back?”
