My pace is aggressive; it’s intentional. To people strolling along the sidewalk, I’ve no doubt I look like a guy who is about to implode.
Ten steps from my Range Rover her voice stops me.
“Ryder.”
Ice floods my veins. My name. Her voice. It draws me to a swift stop, with a secretly needy desire to hear it again.
Ava hugs her middle, but she stands with the confidence of a queen. “Iamqualified for this job. I have three years of experience in this sort of industrial building, along with office spaces, designer homes—in fact, I designed the house of one of your teammates. You know, the one where you called the cops on me.”
My stomach backflips as I half listen, half slap myself in the back of the head. Guilt is one of those sour, sharp emotions I hate, and it’s only made worse when it hovers around anything to do with Ava.
I don’t know why I’m digging my heels in. Logically, she’s qualified; she’s perfect, and it changes . . . nothing.
What good would it do to work together? Seeing her now doesn’t change the facts of what broke a long time ago.
The bright warmth that came upon seeing her shifts into a frigid cold. One filled to the brim with resentment and hardened emotions.
“Miss Williams,” I say, and the formality of it hits a nerve.
For Ava, it adds a bitter curl to her lip. “Yes,Mr. Huntington?”
Touché. I don’t like that. At all. I flick my fingers by my sides. Ava’s eyes drop to the movement, but she doesn’t say anything.
She used to call me Ride or Die. She said I gave everything my all. It’s a nice way of saying I get stuck and can’t get my attention off any one thing until I was satisfied. But Ava always made it sound like a talent, a strength, not something odd.
She was the one who told me I had the secret enthusiasm of hummingbird wings. In this moment, she’s looking at me like I’m the guy who hangs eviction notices.
“I don’t think your skill set is what I’m looking for,” I say. Not one word has any passion behind it.
“Oh really? By all means, tell me which qualification isn’t living up to your standards.”
My tongue weighs two pounds. Ava glances to the side, and I use the moment to really look at her after all this time. Pink cheeks, bright, curious eyes. She’s the same Ava in so many ways. Powerful, stubborn, but there is a new heaviness on her shoulders. A pressure that curves her spine, one she probably doesn’t want people to see.
I always saw her.
What burdens her now? What secrets does she keep that she’d send on pink lined paper with doodles in the margins if we passed notes today?
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
The thing is, we’re not the same people anymore. We don’t need to be friendly, not even acquaintances. In truth, I’d say distance is probably healthiest for everyone.
“I’m going to say no.”
A furrow tugs her brows together. Worse than anything, she looks at me like I’m nothing more than a big dollop of disappointment laid at her feet.
“I see.” Ava straightens her back and takes a step away from me. “Then, good luck on your project, Ryder.”
“Ava . . .” I let her name simmer and fade on my tongue. Why keep it going? What would I ask anyway? How are you? What has life been like the last decade? How do you feel about Phantom being removed from Broadway?
What is Drake like now?
There it is; the real reason I choose to keep a barbed wall in place. How is it possible to balance feelings for the sister when the brother hates me? When I hate him? I hate him so much because I loved him so much. The knife he rammed in my back might be gone, but the scars remain, and that makes me want to hate him even more.
“What is it, Ryder?” Ava asks. “I forgot that talking between us is always based on when you want. So, I’ll stand here and wait until you say what you want to say.”
The things I could say would take until the sun set. I say nothing. Simply stand there, jaw locked, fists shoved in the pockets of my slacks.
“Hmm.” Ava’s nose wrinkles. “If I had to guess, you’re still an oyster, so . . .”
