“Ask as many times as you want, just don’t expect an answer.”
“I think ‘admission’ is the word you meant there.” He chuckles again when I make another annoyed huff, then squeezes our joined hands. “You have no reason to be jealous.”
“Of course not. Our relationship ended a long time ago. It’s none of my business who you’re with or how many there are. And vice versa.” Those last three words are a smoke screen. I’ve been solo by choice since he left, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing there hasn’t been anyone else.
“Is there anyone in your life currently? If so, you should ditch them.”
“Why? Because you’re here for a fleeting moment?” My tone is as sarcastic as my laugh that follows.
His thick eyebrows draw together at the bridge of his strong green nose. “Not because I’m here. Because they’re not. You deserve someone who sticks around, who’s by your side for all the moments.”
“Oh,” I whisper around the lump of emotion clogging my throat. Is that his version of an apology? Or regret? Regardless, it eases the old pain a little.
The song’s notes end, fading and blending with the next offering. Something with a peppier beat that brings single bodies to the dance floor while simultaneously dividing the slow-dancing couples.
“That’s our cue to say good night.” And goodbye, but I can’t bring myself to say that word again.
Instead of releasing me, Grüsh shakes his head. “Since when do we follow anyone else’s cues?” He continues swaying us slowly, intimately, as if the thumping music and bouncing bodies around us don’t exist.
“Never.” I smile up at him, my heart shedding another protective layer as his eyes twinkle down at mine. Indulgently, Irest my head against his chest, and I’m instantly rewarded by the press of his lips and tusks against the crown of my head.
It’s going to hurt all over again when he leaves. But it doesn’t hurt right now.
Chapter Six
GRÜSH
A couple of slow dances and walking her home weren’t enough. Saying good night without kissing or touching her took every ounce of willpower I possess.
This is why I planned to breeze in and out of town without seeing her.
If I’d known she’s close with Ogram’s mate, that she’d be impossible to avoid, would I have manufactured a reason I couldn’t be here for the wedding? Or would that unshakable sensation of unfinished business have nagged at my gut enough to come anyway. I’ll never know.
There’s no going back now that I’m here. Everything I’ve made a conscious effort to forget, or at least avoid, is front and center.
I could pack the car and take off tonight. Now. Before I do something more than ask her to dance. Hell, I almost dropped to my knees and groveled in that barn tonight.
“Fuck.” I throw the sheet off, stomp across the small cabin and get dressed. Dark jeans, t-shirt, boots. Same thing I wear every day.
I never wore boots or footwear of any kind when I lived in the woods outside of Harmony Glen. Didn’t need them, just like my brother still doesn’t.
When I got back to town, I looked at Ogram mooning over his mate and silently judged him for going soft. But he hasn’t. He’s as strong and steady and solid as ever. Maybe more than ever. Not because he continues to live as trolls naturally do, including going barefoot everywhere, even to his own wedding. He’s strong because he’s remained true to himself all this time. His roots run deep.
Mine are a memory.
I pull off the boots and let them drop to the floor with a thud that echoes in the silent space. Tossing my phone and keys onto the table with one hand while grabbing my acoustic with the other, I head out, closing the cabin door carefully behind me out of courtesy for the other guests. It’s nobody’s fault but mine that I’m in a shitty mood tonight.
And every other night, says the annoying voice in my head.
But it’s wrong. My mood hasn’t been shitty every night. There’ve been plenty of good times.
Then put your boots on, get in the car, and go make more “good times” instead of walking barefoot toward a memory.
Condescending fucking voice.
The first few barefoot steps outside feel like a mistake, like I’ve forgotten something. But the more I walk, the feeling shifts to remembering.
It’s nearly an hour at a steady march before I reach the spot where I used to sit and play my guitar. Before integration allowed me to perform in public, this was my imaginary stage. The air carried my songs, even though nobody was within earshot to hear them.
