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He’s been pretty clear about how he feels about his brother and Adele. Both of them act like Winston and choose to submerge themselves and conform to that world. I’d like to think that Briggs and I are kindred spirits in that we aren’t like them, but as he continues to stare at me, my nerves kick into overdrive.
I step toward him and raise my hand to place it on his arm, but he takes a step back.
My hand drops.
What is happening here?
I don’t remember him leaving my house, but he’s had enough time to shower and put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. He looks so good, I want to plaster myself to the front of him, but right this second, warning bells are going off.
His brows pull down, and his lips pinch into a straight line. He’s really not happy with me. Something in my house has triggered this, and I have no idea what it was or how to fix it. I take in his posture, his face, and how the aura pouring off him right now really is reminiscent of when I first arrived, and my heart starts slamming into my chest. This guy standing in front of me is not the guy I’ve gotten to know over the past three months. Right now, he’s the first-night guy.
The one who judged me and didn’t like me.
I stare at him, and he stares at me.
Only I feel like he’s getting taller, and I’m somehow shrinking.
What did I do that was wrong?
I blow through the memories of our dinner last night, how we left things this morning, and even the words said in my house tonight. I can’t find anything.
“Do you want to come back over? I can cook us something to eat,” I offer, thinking food is supposed to be the way to a man’s heart, and this might work, but it doesn’t.
“No. I’m fine here. Thanks anyway,” he says curtly.
This is not good. I’m pretty sure I’m about to live out my fears when it comes to him.
“Okay, well then maybe tomorrow. Do you have plans?”
I’m putting myself out there for what I already know will be a rejection, but I have to see him say the words and hear it for them to be real.
“I do.”
The air in my lungs freezes, and my mouth dries. My nose burns, but I push it down and do my best to shut off my splintering heart.
“Oh, what are they?” I push for him to give me something.
I don’t think this is a bad question to ask. Isn’t that what normal people do with their person? At least I thought he was becoming my person. Last night, he did say I was his. But if that’s changed and he’s not, then I don’t really know what was happening over the past couple of days. Or really what’s been happening over the past few weeks.
Or maybe I do.
We made a deal, and then, at the moment, I was convenient for him.
Or maybe he had some type of hero complex in New York and mistook those emotions for something else.
He looks off to the side and out over the yard. His hands dangle by his sides, and although he’s not outwardly doing anything, the muscles in his jaw clench, and he looks so tense he may as well be a statue.
And with that, I have my answer. He doesn’t have any plans. He just doesn’t want them to be with me.
That was quick.
Just like a match. The fire was lit, and then it quickly burned through the wood before it snuffed out.
“Never mind,” I mumble, tipping my chin up. Because if I’ve learned one thing in my lifetime, it’s that you never show them your weakness. You never let them know it hurts. People use pain. It gives them a power to hold over you and use to exploit as a weakness. My family did it for years until I learned it would never matter. They mocked my tears, and no matter how much I begged for time, attention, and love, I never got it.
Until recently, from Briggs.
I wipe my hands across my hips to the front of my thighs and force myself to breathe in.
