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“I’ll see you at home later.”
“See you then. Hey, Saint?”
I turn back around to look at him. “Yeah?”
“Try and fix things with Haisley.”
“I’ll try,” I respond, not sure if I can. I walk out of the shop to my truck. I get in the driver’s seat and pull out my phone.
Me:I’m fucking sorry. So, fucking sorry.
She responds almost immediately.
Haisley:You should be. What the fuck was the last week anyway? Give me a good reason to talk to you.
Me:There are no reasons why except that I was jealous, and fucked up in my head...
Haisley:Not good enough. You ghosted me, Saint. After what we did and then the hospital, you ghosted me.
Me:And I’m going to regret that for the rest of my being. Can we talk? I’ve got about a week of free time right now.
Haisley:I’ll meet you at your house in twenty minutes, and you can tell me why you all of a sudden have free time when we’re supposed to be prepping for RA.
Me:That might all have to do with Detroit...see you in twenty.
I throw my phone down on the passenger seat and pull out of the parking lot. I wanted to grab flowers on my way home. Thankfully, I’m only about fifteen minutes from there. I stop at the flower shop down the street and pick out a dozen long-stem roses. I don’t even know if she likes roses, but I don’t care.
She’s waiting in the driveway when I pull in, leaning against her car. My heart stops in my chest. Her eyes appear puffy, and she looks tired.
“Haisley, you alright?” I question as I get out of the truck, roses in hand. I offer the flowers to her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”
She takes the bouquet, and a small smile graces her lips. “You still have to explain yourself.”
“Let’s go inside and I will,” I respond, holding out my hand for hers. She looks at it for a moment before sliding her fingers into mine. God, how right this feels. Makes me feel like even more of an idiot.
I open the door and head to the kitchen. “Want something to drink?”
“Water is fine,” she replies taking a seat at the breakfast bar. I slide the water to her and open a beer for myself. “So, speak.”
“Where do you want me to start?” I ask.
“You can start by telling me what the fuck the ghosting three days before the fight was about?” She takes a sip of her water, and I take another sip of my beer.
“I don’t even know, to be honest. After the hospital comment, and then you mentioning you wanted to keep things quiet, I guess I was just being an idiot. I felt hurt, like you didn’t want to acknowledge what was happening between you and me.”
She chuckles. “Oh my god, Saint. That’s not why I wanted to keep things quiet. For fucks sake, Bud already thinks I got this job because of my father, and that I slept my way to it with Hunter, which is false for the record.”
“I know that.”
“I didn’t want to give him any more fuel for the fire until I had a standing ground with Hunter, established a winning record,” she tells me.
“I get that now. In the moment, I was an asshole. Men are idiots.” I shrug as I take another sip of my beer.
“Well, what happened with the fight?” she inquires.
“I saw him holding you against the hauler, your hands secured at your sides, the fear and panic on your face, and I snapped. I don’t like him as it is, but I want to know why he felt like he could touch you like that,” I respond.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know. He was snooping around the hauler when he should have been on pit road because Chad was still practicing. When I confronted him, he continued to spew his bullshit about getting what I owed him one way or another.”
