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“And that’s my fault?” He almost sounds resentful. “In case you’ve forgotten, I wasn’t even aware of that fact until a few weeks ago.”
“Of course, it’s not your fault.”
I stand silent, hating this has turned into an argument because all I wanted was answers. I have no idea why he’s so defensive. He answers my question a moment later. “Here—” he storms over to the bedside table, yanking open the drawer “—read them.” He tosses a journal onto the bed. Another follows soon after. “It’s always been you, but I never said I was a saint.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” My stomach drops. I remember Sam’s comment about Saxon sleeping with anything with a pulse. And in the bar, Laura did insinuate Saxon allowed her to get up close and personal with his groin.
Oh, god. I cover my mouth.
He storms over, ducking down so we’re eye to eye. “It means I was drunk, Cleo was high, and stuff happened. This was months before you called me. You can’t be angry with me every time we run into someone I’ve slept with.”
He closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds when he realizes what he just said. “Oh? So there’s a long line then?” I suddenly feel so inadequate. So inexperienced. “And I wasn’t angry, but I am now.”
“I don’t even know,” he finally confesses, which just makes me feel worse. “I wish I could erase every single one because they all meant nothing. They were there to fill a void, but none of them could. I’m sorry for today.” His rage begins to simmer. “I was just so angry with myself. I don’t want a stupid drunken decision to ruin everything we have.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this? You just shut me out.”
“I don’t know.” He stands tall, the air thick with bitterness.
I suppose I can understand. He’s not proud of his past, but neither am I. “I’ve missed out on so much,” I acknowledge, wishing that weren’t the case.
“Fighting over stupid shit isn’t going to solve that. We have to look forward, not back. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you, but I’m embarrassed. I’ve done shit I’m not proud of.” I don’t want to know details, but it’s safe to assume Cleo is just the tip of a deep buried iceberg.
“I’m still learning what being in a relationship means. I may have slept with lots of women, but they were never you.”
Sighing, I shake my head at the fact Saxon sounds like some raging man whore. Is he bored? He’s so accustomed to having a smorgasbord of women on tap; will the novelty of me wear off soon? “Were we stupid to think this could work?” I whisper, hating to hear my insecurities aloud.
He hisses, taking a step backward. I’ve clearly wounded him. “I’m not going to wrap you in cotton wool like Sam.” I swallow when he mentions his name. “I will hurt your feelings and tell you shit you don’t want to hear because, for me, that’s what a relationship entails. Being honest and not holding back. That’s what I learned today. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I know I’m bound to fuck up time and time again, but I can only hope we learn from our mistakes and don’t make them again.”
He’s completely right, but I can’t be rational right now. “Lots of women? What’s a ballpark figure?” I need to let this go, but I can’t. He’s opened a can of worms. This is what getting to know one another involves, right?
“What does that matter?”
“It matters because I need to prepare myself for the next time you decide to clam up after we run into one of your exes.” Sometimes, I forget that Saxon and I are still new to this. It just feels like I’ve known him my whole life. But when stuff like this happens, it reminds me that we’re still dipping our toes in the water.
“I can count the number of people I’ve slept with before you on one hand. One finger actually.” I don’t specify which one.
“Yes, my brother,” he spits. “I don’t need reminding.”
“Well, all I wanted to know was who Cleo was. But I ended up with a lot more info than I bargained for.” I have no idea how this has turned into an argument, but I’m flipping pissed.
“I fucked up. I’m sorry. I should have told you, but telling you the nasty details of my past leaves me terrified. You’re so good. So pure. I’m just waiting for you to come to your senses.”
This isn’t the first time he’s said this. It’s time to set him straight, once and for all. “Saxon, I’m no angel.” When he tries to argue, I stop him. “I know you think I am, but I’m not. I cheated on your brother, with his brother nonetheless. Don’t put me on some pedestal because I don’t belong there.” I need time to cool down because talking in my current state is bound to end in me leaving.
Thankfully, the doorbell rings, saving us from spilling more blood.
Saxon stands rigid, and I know he wants to continue this discussion, but it’ll have to wait. I brush past him, unable to stand here a moment longer without wanting to scream. My bare feet pound against the staircase, reflecting my mood.
But when I open the door, I try my best not to allow my bad mood to spoil the night. “Welcome to the madhouse.” Felix, Kid, and Hogan laugh, but it’s clear they’re apprehensive to walk into a potential war zone. I step aside, granting them entry, but there’d be no hard feelings if they turned back the way they came.
“Thanks,” says Kid, the braver of the three, as he enters. Hogan and Felix look at one another, but they eventually follow Kid.
From the liquor they’re holding, I dare say we’re in for a long night. “Where should I put this?” Felix holds up a six-pack.
“Here, I’ll put it in the fridge. Make yourselves at home.” They pass me their drinks while Kid holds his bottle of tequila. Looks like he wants to start early. After the day I’ve just had, I may join him.
I place the drinks in the fridge, wondering if I can offer our guests any food. Maybe if I had my head screwed on straight, we could have swung past a store on the way home, but my bad. Taking a breather, I walk over to the window, which overlooks a hilly rise. I just wish I could enjoy the picturesque scenery more.
