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God, it’s everything I’ve wanted to hear since he left. But I can’t do this.When will be the next time he disappears? When will he realize he’s not cut out for commitment? I’ll always fear that.
Say something to keep him away. Say anything…
“I wish I could say the same.” The words leave my lips before I’ve thought them through.
Aleck’s lips lift from my skin, but his face remains buried in my neck. The torturous sound of nails scoring wood makes me grimace as Aleck slowly balls his splayed hand into a fist against the cupboard beside my ear. His other hand tightening around my hip. His head lifts slowly, alarmingly measured.
“Why is that, Winter?” His gaze settles on me like the barrel of a gun.
When I say nothing, his jaw tightens, his teeth grinding against each other.
“What thefuckdid you do?”
“Not that I owe you any explanations, Aleck, but I tossed a potentially good relationship out the window to be with you, and you destroyed that. You had a chance to be with me and you passed it by. That wasyourchoice.”
“The fucking surfer...” His tone is low and soaked in malice. “Tell me you didn’t fuck that shithead Kingsley, Winter.”
Again, I say nothing. Which, to Aleck, is more resolute than a conclusive yes, I knew.
Every muscle in Aleck’s body tightens as he holds onto his composure. “Tell me. You didn’t fuck. The shithead Kingsley, Winter!”
“I can’t,” I spit, holding my chin higher than I deserve, having lied.
Truthfully, I haven’t spoken to Dylan since I called to end any prospect we may have had as a couple. Which, if I’m honest, wasn’t much to begin with. Was he hot? Absolutely. Did I want to ride him like a surfboard? Again, yes. But I didn’t have feelings for him. Not truly. Something was missing between us—a feeling I feel for Aleck in spades.
And Dylan wasn’t mad. He was eerily okay with it, actually.
“Say thefuckingwords, Winter. Look me in the eye and tell me you fucked him.”
Apprehension twists in my gut. I’d rather swallow a handful of nails than lie to Aleck about this, but I know him, he won’t want to touch me after this. So, whatever works.
I lift my teary gaze, hoping Aleck doesn’t see through me, and look right into the eye of the storm to tell the worst lie I’ve ever told. “I fucked Dylan Kingsley.”
A thundering crack of wood splitting beside my head jolts me awake. The son of a bitch punched my cabinet. I turn and look at the fractured wood under his fist.
“Get out,” I grit, feeling faint from holding my breath.
Aleck’s eyes narrow into slits, digging into me as if I’m a stranger he’s disgusted with. His fist an inch from my face. I knew how angry the thought of me being with another man would make him, but I never thought I would see him frayed at the seams. So out of control and irate, he’d let his preciouscontrolslip from his grasp.
Aleck takes a healthy step away from me and drops his head back as he peers at my ceiling. His white knuckles tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, matching the heaving breaths in his chest.
One, two, three seconds pass before Aleck uprights, looking me dead in the eye. Whatever tenderness he held in his expression before is gone. He straightens his spine, pulling his shoulders back confidently. Then he looks away and walks to my couch where his sweater is folded over the cushion. He picks it up, threading his arms through the sleeves, one by one.
The heir of his movements, the look on his face, all showing I’m no longer relevant. He strides toward the door, his steps dangerously calm.
“I’m not yours, Aleck.” The lie burns on my tongue. “Maybe I never was.”
“That’s bullshit, Winter.” He stops and turns around, his pleading lust nowhere to be seen. “You were mine. And now you’re not.”
The door opens, then he’s gone.
And this time I know he’s not coming back.
THIRTY-FIVE
WINTER
Leaning back into the plush cushions of Sondra and Preston’s new couch, I sigh under the weight of Sondra’s stare.
