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Obviously, Paxton isn’t here. How could he be?
This isn’t real.
Maybe I’m still hungover from the pity party I had yesterday.
Lifting my hand, I scrub at my eyes, but when I’m still facing the man who’s haunted my dreams for weeks, I realize this isn’t a mirage.
Paxton Ramsey really is standing in front of me, and he looks exactly how I remember him from the last time I saw him, just as handsome, but his eyes still look hollow and lost.
I wrap my arms tightly around my chest. “What are you doing here?”
Paxton takes a step forward. “I wanted to talk.”
His husky voice still makes my knees go weak. I’m not sure what I expected. It’s only been a few weeks. Obviously, his effect on me wouldn’t diminish so fast. However, what I didn’t anticipate is the fact that it seems to have gotten worse, more potent, and seeing him now, it feels like I’m being torn apart from the inside out.
I hold myself tighter, my finger twitching on my upper arm as I will myself to stay calm. “Why?”
“Please, Mal.” His voice drops an octave, and I realize he’s as miserable as I am. Maybe even more so. But why?
Narrowing my eyes, I level him with a curious stare. “How did you find me?”
“Teagan.” His words make my mouth fall open. Of all the answers, that’s the last one I would have expected.
The tapping on my arm picks up, and Paxton must notice it, too, as he lifts his hand, but then he must think better of it because it shortly drops back to his side.
“You spoke to Teagan?” I ask.
“I did . . . and now I want to talk to you.”
I nod. “Fine.” Not going to lie, I’m still shocked that Paxton is here. I know I should move out of the way and let him in, but I’m having a hard time remembering my name, let alone how to act in this situation.
After what I did, knowing full well what he thought of my father, I never truly thought I would hear from Paxton again. The days and weeks have dragged since the island.
I’ve been trying to move on, but seeing as my heart is beating so fast that I think it might explode from my chest, I’m doing an awful job.
A part of me wants to smile at him, welcome him into my apartment and my life, but I’m afraid.
I’m not sure why he’s here, and I can’t afford to let my guard down.
What if he’s here to—nope, not going there.
Taking a deep breath in, I look at him, really look at him, and that’s when I notice something . . .
For the first time since I’ve known Paxton, he seems nervous, fidgeting with his hands, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
A spark of hope ignites in my belly.
With all my strength, I take a step back, letting him pass.
As he walks into the apartment, I see what he sees . . . a mess.
I quickly try to tidy up, grabbing a few items off the floor and throwing them into a nearby closet. I turn to face him, unsure of what to say.
Paxton looks around the room, taking in the cluttered mess. “This isn’t what I expected.”
I feel a twinge of annoyance. “Of course, it isn’t. You expected me to have Daddy paying my bills.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you want to talk about, Paxton?”
He takes a deep breath before speaking. “I know you couldn’t tell me.”
At first, I don’t understand what he’s talking about, and he must see my confusion because he lifts a hand, a silent request to let him continue. “After speaking with Teagan, I know it wasn’t your story to tell. I should have trusted you wouldn’t just walk away without reason. I should never have left it like that.”
“Okay.”
“I want you to know that I still care about you. I always have.”
I feel a pang of emotion at his words, memories of our past flooding back. But I quickly push them aside. “You thought I was like my father—after everything.”
“I did, and I’m sorry.”
“That’s not enough, Paxton. You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect everything to be okay.”
“I know,” he says, his voice softening. “But I had to try. I had to see you again. I needed to tell you . . .” He stops and studies me for a moment as if he’s trying to figure out what to say. The anticipation is killing me. It feels like a live grenade has been thrown, and I’m just waiting for it to explode.
“Tell me what?” I implore. Put me out of my misery. Tell me why you’re here. The seconds stretch out for what feels like a lifetime, and all the possible things he might say play out in my head.
