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Some things never change.
The second cookie crumbles in my hand, and I dust it off onto the plate, willing myself to relax. I guess I’m angry.
After all these years, the anger’s still there, low-key bubbling.
The man’s unquestionably hotter. Hotter and way more handsome than he’d been at twenty-two. Like he’s grown into the man he’s always meant to be.
What I don’t get is—sure, he’s gorgeous—how he still affects me? Still sets off sparks.
How can I be feeling those tingling bursts of excitement and awareness when I’m so mad and hurt?
It’s not that I’m dragging a deep well around with me, but it’s there. Just like those sparks have always been there. As a kid, when I worshipped him, when I got older, and we were together—
But yes, the hurt is still there, small and still breathing because he never came for me.
All I got was a note saying he didn’t care about me and an admission that certain activities of his could have gotten my father in trouble.
Because I don’t want to think about why Diego is troubled by the group my nephew’s with, I focus on things that no longer matter like the past and that thing that never felt right.
My father claimed he tried to help Diego and Diego turned on him. But thing was, maybe still is, Diego’s not the kind to ask for help.
And in all those years, betrayal is something he’d never done.
Except, of course, with me.
“The past’s the past,” I mutter, finishing the milk. “And if he’s got another agenda . . .”
Well, let him.
He came to help, and in that, I can trust him, beyond, if there’s any kind of beyond, I don’t know.
With a sigh, I reach for the remote control and freeze as something scrapes at the front door.
Heart beating too fast, I stay where I am and pick at the remnants of the cookie I stress murdered.
“Hey.”
Swallowing, I don’t move my gaze from the screen as my nephew’s voice warms me. “Hey.”
He dithers to the door of the living room, and I try and tamp down my shock and excitement he’s here. Taking a deep breath, I look up at him and he scowls. “What?”
I barely control the flinch.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?”
“Booze.”
“Not for you, Jay.” I smooth fingers down over my PJs. “You’re too young.”
“And there you go, judging me.”
This time, I can’t control the frown. Teen growing pains and testing of boundaries aside, this doesn’t sound like him at all.
“You’re sixteen. And—”
“Fuck you.” A light comes to his eyes, like he’s a little unsure he’s gone too far. “Anyway, I’m gonna stay tonight and go again tomorrow. When I move out.”
Breath hisses out of me. “I wish you wouldn’t, Jay.”
