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“No.” Mom shakes her head absently. “But it means you can’t pretend there isn’t history between you, even if you might want to.”
“What?” I freeze.
“Come on. I was a teenage girl once. I recognize a crush when I see it, and you had a crush on Wes.”
“You…You think…” My fork clatters to my plate. “Why have you never told me this before?”
“Sawyer, you don’t talk about anything unless you’re ready. Trying to force you only pushes you further away. I didn’t mind waiting.”
“But you’re telling me now?” I draw my brows together.
“Because it’s in the past. There’s no need to be uncomfortable about it. I’m sure Wes has forgotten all about it, so there’s no need to hide from him anymore.”
Oh my gosh. I’m not sure what is worse, my mom knowing I had a crush on Wes or the fact that it was unrequited. Thank God she doesn’t know the whole story.
“Does Anthony know about this?” My mouth is so dry I can barely get the words out.
“Of course. That’s why we never pushed you to come home when Wes was there. We knew you were probably embarrassed and didn’t want to force you into a situation you didn’t want to be in. Now that you’re moving back, and he lives here, you’re bound to see each other, but I didn’t want you to be taken off-guard if you stop by the house and he’s there.”
I take another sip of water to hide my discomfort. It’s unnerving how she can be so right and so wrong at the same time. On the one hand, I’m grateful she and Anthony gave me the space they did, but on the other, I hate that they think I’m so fragile I let something as mundane as a crush dictate where and when I saw my family.
I’m tempted to correct her, but the truth only spares my pride, and I can swallow that if it means she never learns the full history between Wes and me. I hate to think how she’d react if she knew how bad Wes devastated me. He’s her stepson after all. That said, I don’t know how to leave my past with him in the past when it seems to confront me everywhere I turn. That makes me question the decision to move back here.
I can’t forget the fact that he took away my ability to trust people, or that he’s the only guy I’ve ever physically wanted. I could put those thoughts aside when he wasn’t there, but I could never get past them, even when we were thousands of miles apart. That’s why there’s nothing keeping me in D.C. No close friends, no boyfriend, only a job I like. How is it that the moment I decide I’m done being the victim, my oppressor comes back into my orbit?
I’ve survived our first few encounters, but I’m not sure how many more I can take. He’s both a painful reminder of the past that haunts me and the future I can’t have. I hate him for that. I hate myself more, because I can’t seem to stop wanting him.
The cutest boy in school is now the hottest man I’ve ever seen. The angles and planes that were sharp and hard before are sharper and harder now, and even more enticing today than they were back then. Between the sexy stubble that now grows on his jaw, and the muscles that flexed beneath his shirt as he hugged me, it’s clear my attraction to Wes is as strong as ever. That’s not an encouraging thought given that I believed I’d lost the ability to be attracted to men.
I shouldn’t have hinted that I was considering a move home. I don’t want to think about what it will do to my parents if I take it back. I don’t want to think about what it will do to me if I follow through. Damn Wes.
I better get over to the house so I can pick up dress clothes for Emmy before he gets there. But first, I need to set my mom straight. I may not be able to admit the real reason I’ve been avoiding Wes, but I can’t have her and Anthony tiptoeing around me either. I haven’t lost that much of my pride.
“Thanks for heads up, but I’m not worried about seeing Wes. I’ve bumped into him a few times already anyway. No big deal.”
“Oh, good.” Mom visibly relaxes. “I hope that means we can all do dinner soon. We miss seeing you both at the same time.”
“Sure.” I paste on the biggest smile I can muster.
After saying our goodbyes, I jump in the car and head toward the home I’ve only seen a few times since leaving Denver. Tucked in a lot with mature trees, it lacks the openness of Dad’s place, but it feels just as private, in an organic sort of way. I like that Dad’s place isn’t on top of his neighbors, but there’s something about the old pines here that makes you feel safe, like you’re in a cocoon. I missed it.
I enter the code in the keypad at the front door, and take off my shoes when I step inside. It’s become habit after living in countries where it’s rude to keep them on. I briefly scan the family room on my way to the stairs–looks like it may have got a new coat of paint since I was here last–and make my way toward the room I never quite turned into my own. I barely make it past the threshold when I stop cold, distracted by the massive body in my bed.
“What are you doing here?” I gasp.
“I live here.” Comes the measured retort.
That’s not what I’m asking, and he knows it. I cross my arms.
“I took the day off to go house hunting. Finished early,” Wes elaborates.
“I mean what are you doing here in this room?” I find my voice, though the image of him relaxing on my bed makes it come out shaky.
“Thinking.”
“Don’t you have your own room for that?”
He rubs his jaw, but instead of answering my question he asks one of his own. “What areyoudoing here?”
