Page 33

I tighten my grip on the wheel, inhaling sharply through my nose to keep my temper in check. “Don’t do this. Please. Hannah hasn’t seen you in months and wants to spend time with you. My parents want to see you.”

So do I.

His scowl deepens, his head tipping back against the seat. Several tense seconds tick by before he speaks. “Where is he supposed to stay?”

Honestly, I couldn’t care less. But Devon matters to Xed, and because of that, I have to pretend I care.

“I’ll set him up with a room somewhere,” I offer, even though I’m already in the hole because of this wedding and Val treating me like her personal ATM.

“No.” Xed shakes his head, typing something on his phone. “I’ll do it. You’ve already spent enough on us as it is.”

My brows knit together, and I glance at him sideways. “Hotels in Havasu are pricey, especially in the summer. I don’t mind.”

“I said I’ll do it, Matty.” His glare cuts off any argument forming on my tongue.

I want to ask how he can afford it, but I bite my lip, unwilling to cross that line. Instead, I try a different route.

“So… how are you? How’s work? It’s been forever since we talked.”

Xed stares straight ahead, his body stiff. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

Liar.

“Yeah? Still at Rebel Threads?”

“You know I am.”

I nod, checking my mirrors as I switch lanes. “Taylor told me the owners agreed to sell their merch. That’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re a supervisor now. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He finally glances at me, his expression cold. “I told Jenna. Figured she’d pass it along.”

She didn’t. I heard it from Arya this morning.

“You know,” I start slowly, my chest tightening, “there was a time when we told each other everything. I feel like I hardly know you anymore.”

He huffs a humorless laugh. “That tends to happen when you choose your ex over your best friend.”

“Dammit, Xed, I chose Hannah. My daughter. You’re not a parent. I don’t expect you to understand—"

“Oh, fuck you!” He leans forward, pointing a finger at me, his anger palpable. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Who taught Hannah to talk? Who was there for her first words, her first steps? Sure as fuck wasn’t Valerie.”

“I know you helped out a lot after she was born, and I’m forever grateful—"

“Helped?” His voice rises, cutting me off. “She called me Dada until she was two, and then you got weird about it and made her call me uncle, Matthew. Jesus.”

Shoving earbuds into his ears, he curls in on himself, turning away. “I don’t know why I even came to this thing. It was a mistake.”

“Xed, can we just talk about this?”

But he doesn’t respond. The music blasting from his earbuds drowns out my voice, and all I can do is grip the wheel tighter and turn up my own music, trying to fill the unbearable silence between us.

Every fiber of my being aches to reach out, to pull him in and squeeze, never let go again. But I can’t. He drew his boundaries, and I drew mine. Crossing those lines is what put us in this situation in the first place. So all I can do is listen to my music and try to be happy, try to forget the way he used to breathe my name in his sleep, the way he tastes. The way my body fit him like a glove.

And most of all, forget about the way he makes me feel.