I tried to tamp down my annoyance, something else that didn’t work, in fact, the effort only fanned the flames, and I replied, “Very.”
He lost none of his humor and actually looked more amused when he rejoined, “You’re cute when you’re very serious. ’Specially bein’ very serious in those jammies.”
I stared at him as panic hit me.
He was changing the game and the way he was changing it this time, teasing me like that, I knew I was going to lose.
And if I lost to that, I’d lose it all.
Again.
Oh yes.
Panic.
And staring into his playful eyes, that panic went extreme.
“Please leave,” I whispered.
He heard my tone, maybe read my panic, the amusement fled and he got serious and I knew it was deadly serious even though he didn’t move a muscle.
“What’s the gig with your pad, Millie?” he whispered back.
“It’s my home,” I answered, hoping an answer might get him moving on. “It’s how I like it. I worked hard on it. It’s perfect. Now, I answered you. Will you please go?”
“It’s not you,” he told me.
“It’s all me,” I told him.
“It’s not the you I know.”
“You knew me twenty years ago, Logan,” I reminded him. “Things have changed.”
“Yeah they have,” he readily agreed.
I leaned into my hands on the counter, my body tipping his way, my hope that he’d read that body language and see my sincerity.
“While we’re like this, not angry, not being stupid and crazy, I hope you’ll listen to me,” I began. “I need you to leave, Logan. I need it. This isn’t healthy. Not for either of us. We have to stop.”
“Crate’s gone,” he shared, and my head twitched in confusion when he did.
“Crate?” I asked.
“Photos of us,” he told me.
He’d searched my house.
Not a surprise.
Invasive and annoying but with no rules to this game, not a surprise.
“I took it out to the Dumpster,” I told him.
And I had in a moment of fury.
The garbage men didn’t come until the next day. I still had time to go out and drag it back in.
I was fighting the urge and hated the fact that part of me knew I’d lose that fight. But that crate totally would be back inside, tucked in my closet by day’s end no matter how busy I was.
“Crate’s gone,” he repeated, and when I started to say something, he went on, “Someone took it.”
I snapped my mouth shut against a pain that felt like someone had punched me in the throat.
“Rode around your house,” he told me. “Saw it yesterday afternoon by the Dumpster. It’s gone now.”
Oh God.
It was a nice crate. They didn’t cost a fortune but they also didn’t cost pennies.
And crates like that were useful for a variety of things.
I could see someone taking it. I hadn’t thought about it when I’d dragged it out there and set it beside the Dumpster, not too puny or lazy to throw it in, just knowing I’d never dig it out if I actually did that, so I’d set it by the side because I knew I was weak and I’d be back for it. Still, I was making a statement to myself even if I knew it was lame and I’d take it back.
“It’s gone?” I asked, my voice husky.
“Nice crate, you dumped it, someone can use it. They’ll do that and to do that, they’ll dump the pictures.”
Oh God, that hurt.
God, it killed.
Why had I taken it out to the Dumpster?
Why?
“Threw us away, Millie,” he told me conversationally, then took a sip of coffee, his gaze still on me. When he was done swallowing, he continued. “My count, this is twice.”
That blow was so true, it caved in my throat and I had to fight for breath.
I struggled past the pain, dragged in air, and begged, “Please don’t do this. Just let it go and then go. If not for me, for you, High. This isn’t healthy for either of us.”
“Man’s gotta get off and works for me I do that with a guaranteed good lay. Seems healthy to me, and when I’m buried deep, definitely feels healthy.”
I didn’t hide my wince and he didn’t show he cared even minutely that he’d caused it.
In fact, he didn’t show that he cared much any time I made it clear he’d wounded me.
No, he didn’t care at all.
He was playing with me to cause hurt to get back at me for what I’d done.
But he’d already done that, in spades, and the more I took, the more I allowed him to dish out, the more I made it so I deserved it.
In other words, if only for the sake of self-preservation, if not self-respect, this had to end. I knew it even before it began. I never should have gone to look for him in the first place.
I should have let it lie.
Now it was in my power to make it be over and I was going to do that.
He was not going to get it all.
Oh no.
But I would give him enough to get him gone so I could try to find it in me to stitch up the new lacerations I’d given my own damned self and get on with my life without him in it.
“I saw you at Chipotle,” I announced.
That got me something. I watched his body visibly tighten.
“I heard you on the phone. I heard what you said.” My voice dropped. “I know you have girls.”
His stare intensified but he didn’t say a word.
I did.
“You looked...” I threw a hand his way, “good. Healthy.” I shook my head, knowing my lips were curving in a sad smile but I didn’t try to stop it. “And as ever, handsome. You were wearing your Chaos cut, so I knew you still had your brothers. I saw you, heard you, and I knew you had it all. So I knew it was time to say I was sorry. To find you and say I was sorry for ending things the way I did. I know I hurt you and I thought, you having everything you need, all you ever wanted, your brothers, a family, I should find you and give you that closure. I should give you the words I should have given you years ago and didn’t. So I went looking for you.” I drew in breath and finished, “And I found you but it didn’t go as planned.”