Page 32 of SEAL of Valor

Never one for words, Weston sticks an apple chunk into his mouth and chews. I try to ignore the warmth in my stomach as my gaze momentarily flicks to his lips.

Get it together. Thankfully, the desire is short-lived, due to the pain of this migraine that just won’t quit.

“She said that you refused to let her add you to the deed for this place and that you only agreed to be her business partner when she asked you to take over a lot of the business-related responsibilities.”

He eats another piece of apple.

“Ugh, why are you making this so hard?” It infuriates me to see him standing there, cool as a cucumber, while my brain is aching and my heart feels like I’ve taken it out and beat it with a stick.

“Making what hard?”

“This!” I gesture between the two of us. “I’m the one who was blindsided to find you back in town. I’m the one who had no idea you were still living and working at my mother’s ranch. So how can you stand there, staring at me, as if I have no right to deal with this the way I need to deal with it!” I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to alleviate the pain, but it only makes it worse.

I need to get home before the Advil fully wears off and I end up falling over right in this beautiful savage’s living room.

“I never said you couldn’t deal with it however you need to deal with it. But if your entire intention here is to beat me over the head with how disappointed you were to find me here, then I’m not interested.” He stands exactly where he is, eating another piece of apple as though he can’t be bothered to care that I’m clearly upset.

“Did you ever even care?”

“Did you?” he demands, expression turning furious. At least it’s a change from the coolness on his face moments ago.

“Of course I cared.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away. I’ve cried enough tears over Weston Hayes. I won’t start again. Reaching out, I steady myself on the back of his couch, close my eyes, and count to ten, controlling my breathing as I go.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

When I open my eyes again, the migraine having subsided just a smidge, Weston is standing less than two feet away from me.

“You have a migraine.”

I should have known he’d see it.

“It’s been a long day,” I snap.

“You need to sit down.”

“I need to go home. I only came here to tell you what I found out at the doctor’s because I had this crazy idea that you would care.” I’m lashing out now, trying to hurt him because I’m hurting. Is it fair? Absolutely not. Can I figure out how to stop? Also, a no.

His gaze narrows on me, expression shifting from concern to that unreadable mask once again. “Thanks. I do care.”

“Sure you do.”

He shakes his head and takes a step back. “I’m not getting into this, Reese. Say what you want to say. Hit me. I don’t even care anymore. Just stop pretending like you weren’t the one who moved on a long time ago.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I went to Charleston,” he snaps, jaw tight. “I saw you getting dropped off at your apartment by some guy in a suit.” He clenches his hands into fists, and I take a step forward. “I saw him kiss you. Saw you smile afterward. The entire night is burned into my memory like a bad tattoo.”

“What are you—” And then I remember. Lyle Winslow. We’d been friends when I was in veterinary school. He’d tried to move us into something more, but I wasn’t interested. That was over ten years ago. “You came to Charleston?”

“I guess I thought there might still be a chance to fix what was broken. I was clearly wrong.”

“How could you have known? You didn’t even try!”

“Reese, I’m not doing this,” he repeats. “Not tonight. Not ever. Say what you want, and get out. Go home and lie down before you pass out from the pain.” He tosses what’s left of his apple into the trash, then marches past me toward the front door.

When he pulls it open, I force myself to leave his cabin.

I’d wanted to thank him.