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Ow.
My stomach twisted painfully.
My brain imploded, and the question was asked quietly, in astonishment, “You want to start your own business?”
He looked at me then. Glacial eyes met my own, and they lingered, but no response was offered.
I tried to dispel the mixture of emotions running through me, but of all of them, nothing hit me harder than a sudden feeling of disconnect. “You never talked about it. I thought you were happy with us. With Bleeding Hearts.”
With me.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting more in life,” he rumbled, and it would have hurt less if he’d just taken his fist and slugged me right in the chest.
He wanted more. More than me.
My mind went around in circles, but one particular question had my heart aching. “Do you regret declining your football scholarship?”
Please, say no. Please, say no. Say no.
“No.” He said the word confidently, and my wild stomach settled. “I would have had to move away, and I didn’t like the thought of being away from y—” He cut himself off, then added quietly, “I didn’t want to move.”
Okay.
My heart pulsed heavily as he stopped himself from saying the words I desperately needed to hear. I took his cue, refused to look at him, and revealed gently, “I would have followed you anywhere.”
A heavy silence washed over us. It locked us in place, and when I chanced a look at him, his heavy brows were marred, but his eyes had softened some.
I didn’t know what was going through his head, but when he spoke, his words puzzled me. “I begged Sasha to let me in on Bleeding Hearts.” He crossed one ankle over the other and reiterated, “Begged.”
My chest tightened. I breathed out, “What?”
His brows rose, and he attempted a smile, but it came off sad as he confessed, “I got a shitty apartment ten minutes away. Small, dingy, toilet didn’t flush right, but I didn’t care. I went home to eat, and some days, I didn’t have enough cash for gas. Whether I was at college in another state or working for your brother, I would have been in the same boat. I mean, none of it mattered, because I had something good, you know?”
My stomach flip-flopped.
“I had you.” His voice changed, got lower, deeper, and held a sentiment I couldn’t name. “I stayed for you.”
The breath I’d been holding left me in a quiet whoosh.
He’d never admitted it, but I always hoped.
Did he mean it?
My throat tight, I fought the rush of emotions that hit me and changed the subject, clearing my throat before the warm question was asked. “What business are you thinking of opening?”
That smile stretched, but he kept to himself.
My lips parted in disbelief. “You’re not going to tell me? Me?”
Still, he remained silent. And I found myself talking. “I think I get it.” His dark gaze landed on me, and I peered down at my lap. “If you asked me ten years ago where I thought I’d be right now, I would not have said working the bar at Bleeding Hearts.” My brow furrowed. “I just thought I’d be somewhere else by this time in my life, you know? I had a vision of being settled and making a home with somebody.” With you. A bitter laugh left me. “Instead, I’m Alexis Rose. The naïve, lonely little heiress with too much money and not enough sense.”
Vik frowned mildly. He looked to be at war with himself before he uttered, “Nothing wrong with taking your time, baby.” I looked up to find his eyes soft, his voice tender. “You’ll get where you’re going. You’re just taking the scenic route.”
Just taking the scenic route.
Jesus.
This was it. This was the reason I loved Vik the way I did. Without rhyme or reason. With a whole heart and aching soul.
He always knew what to say. It was a gift of his. He somehow provided the right words at the exact moment I needed them.
I was broken out of my thoughts when he added, “And you’re not Alexis Rose.”
My lips twitched. “No?”
“Nah. You’re Moira.” His smile widened as he peeked back at me. “Stylish, confident, and a little nutty.”
A chuckle left me. I shook my head at his corniness. “I love that show.”
Immediately, he returned a smiling, “Me too.”
And, quite suddenly, I was morose. After the feeling of wholesome happiness fled, I let out a low, “I wish you’d talk to me.”
Vik’s expression turned hollow. When he peered at the wall, into nothingness, he asked, “You stickin’ around?”
I knew he meant right then, for dinner, but the question felt so much deeper than that.
Was I?
“Yes.” I nodded, and when I stood, my hand stretched out, and I cupped his bristled cheek. “I’m sticking around.” His eyes closed slowly, and he ran the coarse stubble over my palm. And, holy shit, I enjoyed that immensely. I couldn’t resist and lightly scraped his cheek with my nails a moment before letting my hand fall. I turned to walk away, when his arm shot out, and he grasped my wrist, holding me in place.
