Page 44 of Playing With Love

I’d said enough. Besides, he knew what he’d done. He’d done it as gently as he could but he still did it, and he knew it, so there was no reason to go over it.

When she’s gone.

Why wasn’t he leaving so I could get gone?

CHAPTER TWELVE

I waited for Liza to answer me, knowing she wouldn’t.

The silence was infuriating. Her words concerning. But it was her tone and posture that was troubling. I was across the room but the emotions rolling off of her couldn’t be missed. Some were fear, defensiveness, and anger. The first two I didn’t understand, the last wasn’t hers to have. Once again, she’d bailed on me. So, no, she didn’t get to be angry at me for demanding answers.

“Are you talking about me? When have I ever rejected you?” I pushed.

“Are you serious?” she scoffed.

Between the dismissive tone and the way she crossed her arms over her chest had me grinding my teeth.

“Deadly.”

Liza being the intelligent woman she was didn’t miss my temper flaring, not that I attempted to hide it. Whatever it was that she’d twisted in that pretty head of hers was about to be untwisted. But to do that, I had to understand what the hell she was talking about.

“Tucson,” she spat.

“What about it?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tucker. I know you remember.”

Oh, I remembered Tucson. Every fucking minute of it and every day after when she ignored me. I remembered the confusion, the pain of losing her, and the anger that followed.

“I remember sitting at the bar spending time with my girl. I remember feeling relief my case was over and I was with you—someone I trusted, someone who I could share with, the only person I felt safe enough to go to and decompress. I remember listening to you share about Boyer. I remember you telling me your divorce was final and you were getting your life untangled from his. I remember enjoying the evening despite the shit topics we were discussing because my ass was on a stool next to you and I’d missed you. I remember not being pleased you’d hid some aspects of your marriage from me. I remember feeling the burn of knowing I’d lost you to Boyer and there were things you’d held back from me because of that. I remember you getting a call and excusing yourself to take it and when you came back to the bar you didn’t look happy. I remember feeling elated I had you back, all of you, and I didn’t have to share pieces of you with some dickhead who didn’t deserve you. That’s what I remember. Now tell me, Liza, with all of that, what the fuck am I not remembering?”

It was that damn call that had changed my plans for the night. Before that call, I was going to ask her to spend the night with me, despite the shit timing—I was home, she was shot of the asshole, it was time to tell her how we were going to be moving forward. But after that call, she’d pulled into herself and gotten quiet—reflective. I’d assumed it had been Boyer and I didn’t want that fucker anywhere never the start of us.

“Who called you that night?”

She looked confused for a moment then totally closed down.

“No one.”

“Bullshit. You were fine, then after the call you weren’t. Was it Boyer?”

“No. It was my father.”

Father? That didn’t explain why she’d looked gutted.

But when her gaze went to her suitcase, I refocused.

“Look at me and tell me what the fuck am I forgetting?”

She didn’t look at me but she did say, “The end of the night.”

Right. Me walking her to her room.

When the pain of rejection hits…

You turning me down…

Everything clicked, and when it did my composure dissolved.