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Garrett
After I retrieve Ansley’s clothing, which I left in the boat overnight, we get dressed and head into town.
She’s quiet on the drive, and I let her have her space to process what happened between us.
I know she doesn’t want to want me. I could see the indecision on her face before she surrendered to the undeniable spark between us.
It wasn’t fair for me to catch her off guard with my pitiful excuse for an apology. I owe her the truth. The whole truth about what happened all those years ago. I just don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have.
I glance over at her. Her feet are on the dash, and her chin is resting against her knees. She’s lost in thought.
I reach over and clasp her hand, and her eyes come to me.
“What do you want for breakfast? The diner?”
Panic rises in her expression.
“I’m not hungry,” she says.
“Well, I’m starving, and I’m feeding you before I take you home,” I declare.
Her eyes narrow. “I’m not your hostage, Garrett,” she snaps.
“No, you’re a woman I spent a beautiful night and morning with, and I want to feed you.”
“It was just sex. You’ve had lots of it, so no need to get sentimental,” she hisses.
Just sex?
“You’re right. I’ve had tons of sex. Great sex. I actually had one night in the back of a tour bus with three girls, and all I had to do was lie there, and they did all the work,” I rattle off.
“You’re disgusting,” she cries.
I pull to the side of the road, stop the Rover, slam it into park, and turn to her. She drops her feet to the floorboard and glares at me.
“But none of that—none of it, Ansley—has ever been able to drive the memory of you from my head,” I confess. My voice sounds frustrated and a little frazzled.
Her comments put me on edge. Funny how the arrogant, egocentric, cool-as-a-cucumber performer can change so dramatically over one simple truth.
I have the sudden urge to reach out to her, but I curl my fingers into a fist, knowing that she wouldn’t appreciate the touch from me. Not at the moment.
She opens her mouth to respond and then closes it again. In her eyes, I can see the confusion.
“If that were true, why didn’t you come back before now?” she asks.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
She shakes her head. “No, it’s simple. You knew exactly what you wanted, and it wasn’t me anymore. It was the hordes of groupies. The party girls who were willing to do whatever you wanted. It was the model with the perfect body and the perfect face,” she screams.
I hate that she believes that nonsense. That she, for one moment, thinks that any of those women hold a candle to her.
I did that. I’m the reason she is so insecure.
“Ansley,” I begin.
“Take me home, Garrett, please,” she begs.
“Okay.”
I pull back onto the road and drive to Market Square. She hops out of the passenger door before I even get the vehicle to a complete stop, and she runs to the door.
I let her go.
I was stupid to think that a decade of hurt could be healed by one great night.
I have some work to do.
I pull up to my parents’ house to find Pop sitting on the front porch, tinkering with a chain saw and an oil can.
I join him, sitting in the rocking chair facing him.
“You look like hell, son. Did you get bad news from your people?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nah, nothing like that. It’s just girl trouble.”
He chuckles. “Ah, that’s the best kind.”
“Not this time, Pop.”
He stops what he’s doing and lays the machine to the side. He wipes his hands on an old towel propped on the seat beside him and gives me his full attention. “What’s going on?”
“I’m a mess, and I don’t like it. Most of the time, I’m just numb. I don’t feel anything, so when a relationship gets hard, I cut it off and move on.”
He nods. “What do you want to feel, son?”
“That tingle,” I say.
