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It’s like he’s not used to the touch anymore, as if he hasn’t had a real hug for ten years when I last threw my arms around him for having my back or making me laugh. My heart squeezes when a barely there tremble shakes his broad frame.
A soft, rough noise leaves him, then he breaks away, putting distance between us. He scrubs a hand over his jaw while I lean back against the brick wall so my knees don’t give out. I can feel the shift, the energy cleansed from the decaying thing that used to hang in the air like venom between us.
But when he speaks, low and gruff, my heart finally splinters.
“I won’t mess with you anymore. That’s done now, so you can go on to live your life.” He pauses, tugging harshly on his messy dark hair. “But we can’t get back what we had before.”
Nineteen
Fox
The undeniable sincerity in Maisy’s apology caught me off guard and I still feel the echo of her hug hours later in the middle of the night. It’s created a deep-seated yearning in me. A wish that I didn’t pull away so soon, that I kept holding her and got to kiss her one more time.
All these years I thought she knew she lied and broke her promise, but she swears she didn’t remember until the truth came out.
I trace my thumbnail over my lower lip as I stare at the laptop on my coffee table.
Can I really believe her? My heart riots against my rib cage, telling me I can’t trust her so easily. She could turn around and stab me in the back again. It’s not something I could survive a second time.
I tamp down those thoughts and squeeze the back of my neck. She couldn’t fake that sincerity.
If I accept her apology…she could truly be my daisy again.
As soon as it crosses my mind, my chest caves and I lean back against the couch. Focusing on what I got from the waiter at the restaurant is impossible. I’m supposed to be using the duplicated ID badge to gain access to Nexus Lab from the inside to dig up dirt on Jacqueline. Every time I try, I circle back to Maisy, as inevitable as the shifting tides of the ocean I miss so much.
And her.
Because I still miss her.
“Pathetic bastard,” I murmur to the industrial walls surrounding me.
Something did hit me hard earlier tonight while standing outside the restaurant. For the last ten years I’ve formed my vendetta around the entire Landry family. I punished Holden and Maisy as ruthlessly as I want to go after their parents. But as I had her chin grasped in my fingers and stared them down, everything sharpened with clarity.
The real problem has always been Richard and Jaqueline. Not my old friends.
I’ve been so stubborn and sure of my grudge against the entire family that I might have sabotaged my own efforts to bring them down. Instead of wasting my time with the schoolyard shit I came at Maisy with and the strings Colt helped me pull with Holden’s college football draft, I should’ve been focusing all my attention on the two people who actually had a hand in this.
Hating Maisy for breaking her promise was the old pain of a kid broken by loss and torn away from the only friends I had.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and rub at the burning sensation in my chest.
Without being clouded by anger and anguish, I’m able to think back on the day I found the wild daisy for her and took her to the garage. I remember how much I wanted to learn to ride dad’s Harley as fast as I could and imagined all the places I would drive Maisy. We had so many adventures planned, including the most important thing I promised her.
I’m going to marry you someday.
I swipe my fingers over my mouth and let the old love I felt for her crash with the love it’s grown into in the background, behind every intensely passionate thought I’ve ever had toward her.
Hate. Love. Betrayal. Longing.
The secrets of this town tore into the path we were set on, but somehow it couldn’t fully destroy how deeply connected I am to her. If I told her that, she’d probably have a name for it, like fate or destiny. My mouth curves into a lopsided smile as I picture scoffing and telling her fate was for fantasy stories.
Knowing now that she never meant to hurt me makes a sludge-like sense of guilt settle deep in my gut. I’ve been such an asshole to her. I hunted her for sport, like the psychotic bastard I’ve honed myself into, put my hands on her, and sabotaged her grades and social standing. I wanted her to hurt and I made it happen, driving her fear and tears when she’s been resilient against my efforts to take her life apart. All because she’s fucking brave and wanted nothing more than to earn my friendship back.
My throat works on an uncomfortable gulp. I don’t like the feeling creeping through my veins as I consider all the horrible things I’ve done and said to her. It makes what I told her tonight ring more true—we can’t get back what we had because I’m afraid to trust her, but also because I can’t look at myself in the mirror for what I’ve done to her for the sake of revenge.
I rub my face and release a sigh, sagging deeper into the aged leather of my second-hand couch. I do want to accept her apology. It’s lifted a solid weight off my shoulders and I finally feel like I can breathe easier without every breath being tinged with so much darkness.
But some part of me still hesitates. Once trust is broken, it’s hard to heal it. Even if I want to erase it with her apology, the withered parts of my heart are wary, more comfortable behind thick walls of impenetrable stone to remain hardened. It’s the only way to protect it from reliving the pain.
