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“You had no issue getting involved when you told me to stay to help him.”
“That was different.”
My jaw drops. “How?”
“Because that wasmeasking, duh,” he quips.
Ugh, he’s such an ass. “Okay, fine. Then just tell me this: do you think he’s over me? Like, love-is-dead, wouldn’t-ever-even-consider-it over me?”
My heart balances on the edge of a cliff as I wait for his answer, and it feels like it takes ages before he lets out a gush of air. “I don’t know, honestly. But what I do know is he hasn’t so much as looked at another girl since you left.”
And that’s all I need to hear before I have my answer.
THE INSIDE OF THEbar is dark, but the light coming from the upstairs window tells me he’s still awake. I had gone to the house first. He said he was going home, so that’s where I thought he would be. But his truck wasn’t in the driveway and none of the lights were on. It wasn’t until I called Mali that I found out he hasn’t been sleeping at the house for over a year. He lives in the upstairs of the bar and only goes to the house every once in a while to make sure everything is good there.
Before I can stop myself, my fist pounds against the door. It doesn’t work at first, but I’m not giving up that easily. Not when it took this much just to get me here. As I bang on it again, I don’t stop until I see him come into view. He’s in a pair of gray sweatpants with no shirt, and he stops to stare at me for a moment. I think he knows that I’m not going anywhere because he runs his fingers through his hair and comes to unlock the door.
“You know, for someone who couldn’t bother to say goodbye, you sure seem to have a lot to say now.”
I hold my head high, even though it’s killing me inside. “Ten minutes.”
He looks like he wants to tell me no. To fuck off and go away, shutting the door in my face for the second time in two days. But instead, he sighs and reluctantly pushes the door open further to let me in.
I duck under his arm and step into the bar. The whole way over here, I was so worried how I would get him to hear what I have to say that I didn’t think about how I would say this shit when I actually got the chance. But even if I had, it would have gone right out the window as I turn to look at him, because all I can focus on is how fucking good he looks.
My mouth goes bone dry as I stare back at him. I had that. All of that was mine. Holy shit, I’ve never hated someone more than the fucking stalker that forced me to leave. But as sexy as he is, the bruises that cover his chest and the road rash down his side have me wanting to nurse him back to health more than anything else.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he looks at me expectantly. “You’re already down to nine. I suggest you don’t waste any more time.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing my eyes away. “That just looks really painful.”
He shrugs. “I’ve felt worse.”
Fuck. “Hayes, you have to know I never wanted to leave you.”
“Oh, bullshit,” he scoffs. “You don’t do what you did unless you want to.”
“That’s not true. I—“
I go to say it, to break rule number three, but the words just won’t come out. The fear that has wrapped around me like a straitjacket for so long takes over, and I can’t seem to force it out.
“You what?” he presses. “Regret it? Yeah, I figured one day you would, but that’s not my problem.”
“Th-that’s not what I was going to say,” I mumble. “God, it never used to be this hard to talk to you.”
“It never used to be this hard to look at you, either.” He takes a step closer. “I used to fuckinglovelooking at you. Craved it. But now, every time I see you, all I can think about is the night we spent together just hours before you left. And the whole damn time, you knew you were going. I thought things were finally getting better. I thought we were going to be okay. But you fucking knew that wasn’t the case.”
My chest tightens. “I did.”
There’s no point in lying. No point in denying it. He’s not asking for the truth, he’s telling me he already knows it. And besides, you don’t randomly choose to leave in the middle of the night after making love like we did.
“Why?” He asks. “Why do all that? Why make me have hope only to destroy it the next morning?”
“I wanted one last good night with you,” I confess. “Something to hold onto.”
With another step toward me, his eyes bore into mine. “See, that’s the thing.Yougot something to hold onto. You knew the last time we fucked was going to be the last time. But I didn’t.”
The closer he gets, the harder it is to breathe. I’ve seen that look in his eyes enough times to know what it means, and I want it. I want it so fucking bad. But I know that if I let him get his hands on me, I’ll end up shattered once again and forced to pick up the pieces on my own.
