I take her dig for what it is. Understand she’s trying to hurt me any little way she can. Shit, she has every right to. My ego likes knowing she’s followed me. My pride hates that she’s noticed the bad press that’s always blown way the fuck out of proportion.
I bite the rebuke on my tongue. Fight the want for her to know I’m not that guy and confess the truth behind the bullshit rumors. And yet, I can’t. I may be having a good time, trying to help her out, and yet she’s a part of my past, and the rumors are trying to protect my present.
“Don’t always believe what you read about me.”
“No worries. I don’t ever read anything about you.” A hint of hurt. A trace of spite.
“I deserve that.” She’s lying. The finger twirling in the hair at her neck tells me so. I fight a smile at seeing the simple tell she still has.
“No, you don’t deserve shit from me.” And here comes the temper.
“Good thing I don’t want anything from you then.” Why does it feel like I’m the one telling a lie now?
“Then why are you here, Hayes? Why? Not the ‘in town for the funeral’ part but rather I’m talking about tonight. Why come to the club and more so, why are we here right now? If you want nothing from me, then why’d you bring me to the tree house?”
What the fuck am I supposed to say to that when I don’t know the answer myself?
“I was at the club because Ryder invited me, and I wanted to catch up. I didn’t expect you to be there. Thought you’d be out with your fiancé. What’s his name? Mitch something-or-other?” Layton. I know the last name all right. Remember him to be a pompous prick when I played baseball against him in high school.
But let’s see if she takes the bait. Finishes the question. Gives me an in to open the door and start the conversation we need to have.
“Mmm.” That’s all she says in response.
I study her reaction. Notice the purse of her lips. The hair wrapped around her finger again. The sudden shifting of her legs as she fidgets.
I could press her right now. Push those buttons of hers. But there’s something beneath the surface I can’t quite peg. So instead, I opt to finish answering her question. Try to gain her trust so she stops hating me.
“And we’re here . . . we’re here because it’s kind of fitting. After the other day at the bakery and then tonight at the club, I don’t know . . . I needed to apologize to you. Explain why I . . .” I blow out a sigh and run my fingers through my hair unsure myself what I’m going to say. “This was where we always came when we needed to talk.”
“It’s in the past,” she whispers, eyes angled back up to the sky but the contempt in her voice has been replaced by guarded hurt.
It’s not in the past. Not for her. And that’s the bitch of it, isn’t it? Knowing someone so well for so long, even though time’s passed, you still know them. Can read their body language and infer from their tone so you can’t escape the fallout of your actions.
“You don’t owe me anything. No apology. No anything. It wouldn’t matter if you gave me one anyway,” she replies as she lowers her face from the sky so she can meet my eyes. The defiance I see in them wars against my guilty conscience. “It’s a whole lot too late.”
I nod my head in understanding. The split-second decision I had to make back then seemed so simple, but now owns my thoughts as I look at Saylor in the moonlight across this old tree house.
“Saylor.” Her name is part sigh, part apology on my part.
“Just don’t. Save it.” She shifts abruptly, effectively ending the topic by scooting to the floor and lying on her back.
Anything to avoid meeting my eyes.
She’s not going to make this easy on me, is she?
I stare at her. Hair fanned on the floor and eyes toward the sky, irritated as fuck with me, and I’m reminded of that night when things first started between us.
What did I expect when I brought her here? That the memories were going to soften her and not affect me?
I should just take her home. Pick up the phone and call Ryder to apologize that I can’t return the favor this time around. Lie that the studio has called, needs me back to reshoot a few scenes before moving to the next location. Get the fuck out of here before shit gets complicated. Because looking at her, being reminded of before, is stirring up way more than I expected. Shit I don’t need in my already complicated life. Something I definitely can’t start without walking away and repeating history with her I don’t want to repeat. Can’t repeat.
I’m not that much of an asshole.
Goddamn memories, man. They’re fucking with my head.
So I sigh and do the only thing I can do—try to make this right. I shift onto my knees, cross the space between us, and unfold my legs until I’m lying beside her, just like I did that night. Her body stills and her breath hitches as our arms touch, but she doesn’t pull away.