Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

SIXTY-SEVEN “I Still Love You”

SIXTY-SEVEN

“I Still Love You”

NIGHT TRAVELER

Natalie

Quarterback Sneaks Out On Media Princess.

“W ell, this is just fucking embarrassing,” I admit, handing my father’s tablet back to him as he eyes me with concern across my desk. “Gotta admit, the headline is pretty clever and a nice play on words.”

His eyes flare with a fury that I know he’s trying his best to temper. “Do you want to take the day?”

“Hell no. I’m not cowering away from this.”

The lines begin to light up more aggressively on my phone console, no doubt another nightmare for the paper. I’ve gone and done it again—making Austin Speak a media target. Dad has probably already hired the same security he commissioned months ago, at the end of my last disastrous relationship. I wince when every line goes red. “Crap, Dad, I’m sorry.”

“It will die down,” he assures me with the wave of his hand. “There’ll be something within a day or two to take the place of this.”

“I will never date a public figure again. Scout’s honor.” I grin, giving him a playful salute.

His expression remains impenetrably one of parental concern.

“Trust me, Mr. Butler, this is hurting you far more than it is me. Sorry about the season tickets.”

“Natalie,” he sighs.

“Daddd,” I draw out. Am I embarrassed? Yes. Is my pride stinging, of course. Tye turned out to be more of a super whore than a superhero. Though we didn’t need a paternity test to end our relationship. Apparently, Tye fathered a child during our short stint as the media’s new ‘it’ couple. A relationship the media drew out far longer than it lasted. Ironically, the reason for our breakup is as much news to me as it is to the rest of the world.

Sadly, my future didn’t go quite to plan as Easton predicted.

No puppy.

No ring.

No future carpool full of internal self-loathing.

Take that , rock star.

Stifling the threat of lingering on any more of Easton’s predictions, a little laugh escapes me as Dad looks at me like I’m growing an extra head.

“Just another embarrassing media bookmark of my crappy streak with men. Awesome.” Dad winces at my candor. “Come on, Daddy, we are press . It’s ironic.”

Dad fumes, and for a hot second, I fear for Tye if they ever again come face to face. “Don’t you even think about calling a favor in to smear him, young man,” I jest. “It’s poor form.”

He presses his lips together as I nail his line of thinking.

Guilty.

“No-no, Daddy,” I scold playfully. “You’re not allowed to punish my exes with a rolled-up newspaper.” Nate Butler has far too much integrity to carry out one of the dozen revenge scenarios forming in his mind, which only makes me smile.

He crosses his arms, fatigue in his posture as I do my best to ease his worries. Since the Super Bowl, we’ve become a lot closer to where we used to be, in a time I now define as B.E.C.—Before Easton Crowne.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ve decided to give dating a rest for a while.”

I get nothing but a sad, blue stare in return.

“Tough room. Dad, I’m okay, better than okay,” I say honestly. “Tye was an attempt at a rebound, reigning Super Bowl champ or not.”

“You liked him.”

“I did, from what I knew of him, but love was never in the cards. I think he knew it, and that’s probably why he dipped out—or

into someone else.”

Dad cringes at my frankness, and I join him. “Sorry, too far.”

“Don’t blame yourself for another man’s poor fucking choices.”

“I’m not. Trust me, and I won’t.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind, just take off. The building will probably be surrounded within the hour.”

“God bless Texas,” I say. Paparazzi are nowhere near as prominent in Austin as they are in other cities, though in this age if you’re recognizable enough, everyone’s a pap. We’re lucky that people still rely on the news at this point with so many rogue reporters out there. Sadly, being Easton Crowne’s ex and now Tye’s, I am highly recognizable, but in the worst possible way.

Regardless, I have no doubt whoever is in the vicinity is making a beeline for Speak . “If it gets to be too much, I’ll jet. Promise.”

Seeming satisfied, Dad stands and heads toward my office door. My courtship with Tye made headlines for the five weeks we ‘dated,’ which did nothing to aid my belief that we had some sort of fairytale future. Easton did his part to taint the idea the day of the Super Bowl, but Tye and our reality as a couple—which was nonexistent—finished it off.

There were few sparks without a single trace of fire. I’ve had fire, and even if I lost it, I refuse to settle for anything less. I also refuse to believe that my chances of ever having it again are as slim as my ex claims. Case in point, my father celebrated his twenty-fourth wedding anniversary after losing who he thought was the love of his life.

Even if a large part of me believes Easton, I’m determined to die on my stance to keep my eyes open in search for smoke. Otherwise, well . . . fuck the alternative. I’m too young to consider myself damned and believe it’s already a curtain call for me in the love department.

I’m not aiding Easton’s ridiculous belief that I have no hope of any real romantic future or buying into ‘the one and only’ notion anymore, no matter how true it feels at times and especially on days like today.

Screw Easton Crowne and the awareness that loving him brought me.

Screw men in general, aside from the one man I’ve almost always been able to count on.

Dad lingers at my office door as I do my best to relieve him of the burden of being a concerned parent. “Please tell Mom just how fine I am and be gone, good media king,” I wave him away, “this princess has a deadline. Find someone else to hover over and terrorize.”

Dad lingers a bit longer when my intercom buzzes, and I snatch the cradled phone like the lifeline it is, willing to talk to anyone who will get the overprotective guardian out of my office.

“Line one—”

“Got it,” I say, with the phone already to my ear, continuously shooing my father away. When he’s out of earshot, I hit the button with a ‘no comment’ ready on my tongue. “This is Natalie Hearst.”

“Beauty . . .”

Stunned, I focus on the blooming flowers of my screensaver and school my expression.

“Are you okay?” His voice is void of sarcasm, but that does nothing to curb my contempt.

“About the puppy? I’m good. I’m not much of an animal person anyway, a fun fact you didn’t know about your ex-wife.”

“I didn’t fucking mean that,” he rasps out, his voice scratchy as though he just woke up.

“Well, you were right about some of it, so feel free to congratulate yourself.”

“Natalie . . . I’m sorry.”

“I’ve already forgiven you, and I did it for me . Anything else?”

“I’m in Austin.”

“Yeah? Good for you. Go to Sam’s on 12 th street, amazing barbecue.”

“Can I see you?”

“No thanks. I barely survived the last scathing interaction.” Heart pounding, I tilt my head and type gibberish on my board to make myself look busy while feeling the prodding blue eyes across the pit.

Not again. Nope. Nope. Nope.

“You’re a stain.”

Easton made every imaginable headline professionally for weeks following the Super Bowl. His sales skyrocketed along with the simultaneous hunger for his picture and any personal information. His half-time performance blasted him into the stratosphere, quadrupling his already impressive sales and putting all twelve of his singles on the Billboard, numbering one through twelve. Personally, he disappeared, not a single picture of him surfacing. Not only has Easton’s success become ceaseless in media chatter, but the Sergeants’ performance was rated by many as one of the top ten half-time shows in NFL history. Even so, Easton seems to have exiled himself from the spotlight.

“Let me come to you,” he says. “I want to apologize in person.”

“No!” I blurt as several sets of eyes fly my way. “No,” I repeat, lowering my voice. “It’s not a good idea, and you know it’s not. Listen to me . . . you’re okay, you’re better than okay, and I’m going to be okay, and I need you to respect that. I’m happy for you, I really am, and I’ll accept your apology now, but please don’t call me again. There’s nothing more to say. I wish you well.”

I hang up the phone and stare at it, just as the line instantly lights up with another incoming call. The gravity of what I just did begins to hit as I try not to let the burn singe too much of me.

He didn’t call. You imagined it.

The lines continue to explode, and my phone texts tick up in numbers—no doubt Holly and Damon attempting to check on me.

I send them a group text to assure them I’m okay, and they both instantly start an emotional welfare check interrogation.

“Damnit,” I mutter, hanging my head. Dad’s right. I need to try to avoid this circus for at least a few days until some of the storm blows over. Grabbing my laptop, I walk across the pit. Employees eyes follow me as I command my heart to slow.

He didn’t just call. You imagined it. He’s not in Austin.

I knock on Dad’s doorframe, and he immediately puts his call on hold, kicking back in his leather chair while squeezing his stress ball.

“What’s up?” He eyes my laptop.

“You’re right. I’m going to go. I’ll work from home for the next few days. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

“Look at me,” he commands, and I do. “Do I look upset? This isn’t on you.” I can feel his aggravation for me in his posture, but see nothing but love in his eyes.

“Thank you. Love you.”

“You too. Come home if you want.”

“I may ride Percy later on. I’ll let you know.”

With that, I hurriedly make my way to the back exit of the building. The minute I step out, I’m blinded by the Texas sun while my name is shouted from a block away by a voice I don’t recognize. They’re already here.

“Shit.”

Digging in my purse, hand on my stun gun, I round the building and stop briefly as I spot the few who’ve gathered in front of the main entrance. Turning, I start a sprint as they catch sight of me fleeing toward the coffee shop where I parked this morning in anticipation. The second I turn the corner, a black SUV cuts me off in the alley, just as I’m spotted by a few more photographers. I shield my face with my laptop as a window lowers, expectant of camera flashes. “No comment for the rest of my fucking life!”

“Think that will work for me?” an amused voice replies, followed by an accompanying chuckle. Lowering my laptop, I meet the jade eyes that haunt me in the waking hours when my guard is lowered.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” I snap, realizing Joel is in the driver’s seat, grinning at me, seemingly just as amused. “I told you I didn’t want to see you!”

“Damn, Beauty, you’re foul today,” Easton’s smooth voice reaches my ears, and I shake off the chill, knowing it has nothing to do with the lingering spring temperature.

“Might want to get in,” Easton urges as I glance back and see paparazzi closing in, less than a block away.

“Damnit!” I open the door, Joel rolls the windows up and I manage to slam myself inside just as they surround the car.

“This is just fucking perfect!” I shield my face again with my laptop as we’re engulfed, and flashes go off. Joel lays on the horn before slamming on the gas, giving us a wider berth while tearing out of the alley in reverse.

“Good to see you, Nat,” he chimes in obvious amusement before throwing the SUV into drive and speeding away from the swarming bodies chasing us.

Stare lingering back through the rear windshield, I unload a slew of curses as Joel maneuvers us through traffic while breaking every imaginable law.

Turning my glare toward Easton, I’m struck stupid by the sight of him smiling, his green eyes glittering as he drinks in my appearance. I close my eyes and tilt my head back on the rest as his chuckle fills the cabin.

“This isn’t funny. At fucking all ,” I grit out.

“Depends on the perspective, I guess.”

I slink back in the buttery soft seat, my laptop and purse clutched to my chest, my leather skirt riding high on my thighs. Why am I wearing a leather miniskirt, heels, and a thin V-neck sweater that highlights my cleavage on a frosty spring day? Because I’m determined to send a message that I will not cower away from the perception of being cheated on, nor will I play the martyr by dressing like a nun. The outfit is borderline office inappropriate, but I didn’t want to be caught in the crosshairs of the blood-thirsty media looking my worst on a day where they’re conspiring to paint me the victim. Thank God Dad got the heads up on the story breaking last night, so we were better prepared. I have zero doubts that after today I’ll be the woman notorious for being unable to keep a rock star and one of the world’s greatest athletes within my grasp.

The attention to the details I put into my appearance are blatant as Easton’s gaze lights up my skin. I keep my own averted while the downtown buildings pass us in a blur.

After a few wordless seconds, Easton closes in and gently pries my whitening fingers from my laptop before setting it on the seat between us.

Ignoring Easton’s play for attention, I speak up. “Joel, will you please drop me home?”

“They’ll be there waiting,” Easton reminds me.

“I can handle it, and I said I didn’t want to see you.”

“You’ve barely looked at me since you got in the SUV, so you’re safe in that respect.”

“Glad you find this so amusing, but I’m not in need of saving today.”

“You never really have been, have you?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I was damn near delusional when we met.”

“You had grandiose dreams of finding true love.”

“Yeah,” I retort, “we both see how that worked out.”

Silence.

“Joel,” Easton summons softly. Joel pulls over a minute later in a busy shopping center, exiting the SUV. I sit silently in anticipation and don’t wait long.

“You can continue to feed me bullshit, or you can really talk to me. Either way, I see what you’re not saying, Beauty.”

Do not look at your beautiful ex-husband, Natalie. Do not look at your beautiful ex-husband.

“It’s called self-preservation,” I snark. “You should try it sometime. Though I doubt the tortured artist that dwells inside you will allow it for your long prosperous career.”

“I know what’s real.”

“Yeah, so you’ve told me.” I turn to see his eyes heating. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some sort of answer,” I bite cynically. “Clearly I’m not.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m a fucking stain , remember?”

The silence drags on until I finally brave a glance over to see Easton staring out the window. So many questions rest on my tongue, but I can’t ask them. I go for diplomatic instead.

“LL . . . is he okay? I read that he’s recovering, but how is he now?”

“He’s good, but it was close. Much to his complete and utter dismay, he’s going to be under strict medical care the entire time we’re overseas, and we’re going to go from there.”

“Are you two . . . getting along?”

“Yeah,” Easton nods. “There’s a lot more to him than I originally thought. But then again, he’s still LL,” his chest bounces with a silent chuckle.

“I knew it wasn’t drugs,” I relay happily.

“He wanted the dream,” Easton says softly, “so much that he risked his life for it.”

More questions spring to mind, but I can’t ask them. I can’t, because if I do, I know I’ll want to dive deeper. There’s nothing about this man I don’t want to know. Do I still know him? The awareness trying to awaken inside me says I do, and I’m still probably one of the closest people to him.

Do I still want to know him?

Six weeks ago, the old me would have jumped at the chance to remain in his life, but our last exchange broke something inside me—mostly hope. Our relationship felt toxic when he left me in that bathroom.

Even with all his allure, and the things his presence does to me, I feel stronger, even if I’m still bleeding.

“What are you thinking?” He asks softly without looking my way.

I sigh. “That I’m too damned young to feel this tired,” I glance at my smartwatch, “at eight twenty-seven a.m. Easton, what are you doing in Austin?”

“We’ll get to that.”

Turning, he reads my real question.

“Yeah, Beauty, I was already here before I found out your boyfriend cheated on you.”

I nod. “So, are you kidnapping me?”

“Do you really want to go home and search the web for bullshit?”

“No, but spending time with you could be just as catastrophic.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, Natalie.”

“Thank God for small favors,” my reply is barely audible.

He pulls my hand from the seat, and I shake my head adamantly, denying his touch. “Please don’t.”

His shoulders slump forward as he pulls his hand away. “All right. Part of why I’m here is that I wanted to apologize in person. I didn’t mean it, what I said about your future. I had a little growing up to do and still do. But I didn’t mean what I said. You’re too fucking smart to settle for less than what you deserve, and you didn’t.”

“So was my father,” I clarify. “If I would have realized that before I went off on a wild goose chase, then we—”

“Never would have happened,” he finishes, my conclusion paining him and me . “And I know.”

“Know what?”

“We’ll get to it,” he assures again.

I decide to give him honesty. “I’ve spent the last six weeks pulling myself together, Easton. Part of that was forgiving you. I’m still working on me.”

“But you haven’t,” he whispers softly. “Not really.”

“I haven’t heard a word from you since I divorced you and really never expected to again. What is with you fucking Crownes anyway? Is it our surname? Butlers to serve the Crowne? Is that why you people think you can barge into our lives, take what you need from us, and tear us apart before you take off again?”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“I think . . . that I remember every second of what I felt from the minute we met and the days, weeks, and months leading up to the last time I saw you and after. So no, I don’t truly believe that it’s intentional. But letting my heart rule my head, I’m fucking done with that, and I have to be for a while. We were idiots,” I whisper in an attempt to keep my voice even. “You know that, right? Both of us. We eloped after a handful of months together and really expected to be some sort of rare exception.” I bite my lip, withholding the comment that I believed we were.

“I still have the same heart I did then, Beauty. It beats the same fucking way. You’re still angry, so stop lying about that.”

“Why do you think that? Because I’m trying to use good judgment?” I retort. “Something you’ve never bothered to try and understand.”

Resting his face against the seat, his eyes float over and sweep me wholly. “Give me the words.”

“The words?”

“A way to get to her ,” he says softly. “Something, anything to get back to her. Point me there. Because I really need to talk to her today.”

I return his earnest gaze with a frown before I realize what he’s asking. He wants the woman who was open with him, who didn’t hide behind the hurt, the woman who trusted him and handed over her heart. The woman he married. The version of the woman he nicknamed ‘Beauty’ because of his attraction to the raw, unguarded state he drew from within her that had nothing to do with her appearance. The version he left in shambles with his parting words in that bathroom. “Easton—”

“Fuck,” he sighs, “okay, Natalie, just tell me where you want to go, wherever that may be.”

He knocks on the window, and within seconds, we’re being chauffeured through Austin streets.

Knowing I’m being unreasonable and childish, I entertain the idea of hearing him out as I scan his face. This may be our chance to fix what we jaded and sullied and leave each other amicably. Flashes of my life in Austin flit through my mind, of places I’ve felt safe, of places where I know we might be able to make peace with all that’s transpired. Glancing in the rearview, I project my directions to Joel. “Get on 35 South.”

“The middle of fucking nowhere,” Easton muses as I start to walk through the lifeless pasture toward a cluster of oak trees. The sun mildly warms the morning as I turn back to Easton with my explanation.

“My father’s best friend, Marcus, Damon’s dad, owns this land. These are some of my old childhood stomping grounds.” I scour the field and sigh. “I haven’t been here in years. It seemed so much bigger back then. Must admit, it’s lost some of its magic.”

Easton steps up next to me and sweeps the large pasture before I feel his eyes on my profile for long seconds. “Can’t have that.”

He turns on a dime and walks over to the SUV, conversing briefly with Joel. In less than a minute, the SUV is speeding away from us, leaving us alone in the frost-tipped field.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Easton walks toward me with confident strides. “Trust me?”

“Sadly . . . maybe a little.”

“Okay then,” he says, walking further into the field toward a twin cluster of oak trees as I follow, my heels sinking into the dirt.

“Shit, this was a bad idea,” I say, inspecting the bottom of one of my soiled heels, “these are expensive—”

In a blink, I’m swept into Easton’s arms honeymoon-style. Inhaling his intoxicating scent, I glare at him while being forced to wrap around him for support. I don’t miss his satisfied smile.

“You’re going to fuck this place up for me,” I mumble.

“Not intentionally,” he replies, biting away the rest of his smile as he carries me over to the trees. When we get to his designated destination, he gently sets me onto my feet on brownish-green grass. A cool breeze freezes me where I stand just as the smell of cow shit hits us both. Our eyes meet as the putrid stench overtakes us, and we burst into laughter.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I can smell why you thought this place is magical .”

“Shut up.”

“Just admit it, out of the two of us, you’re the shittier tour guide.”

“Whatever. I was forced to think on my toes, and this is what I came up with. You’re welcome to summon Joel back.” I wave my hand dismissively and sit on the cool grass, staring up at the cloudless early morning sky.

“Nah, this is the perfect place,” he twists a piece of plucked grass between his fingers after taking a seat next to me.

“Okay, I’m here, and I’m freezing. Out with it.”

“I’m getting to it,” he says, “just talk to me for a little while.”

“What’s the point?”

“Because you’re the only one I find I want to talk to anymore, and I fucked that up. So please, Natalie, humor me.”

His eyes search mine briefly, and I nod. Ten minutes of small talk later, Joel pulls up and pops the back hatch of the SUV.

“What’s going on?”

Easton stands. “Sit tight.”

In minutes, Easton’s stalking back towards me, arms loaded. A bag hangs from one of his wrists as he hauls a Styrofoam cooler covered with thick, folded blankets, a bound manuscript sitting atop them. Standing, I help him spread a blanket and wrap myself in another as he unloads a bag full of snacks and a thermos full of coffee. Popping the top off the cooler, I discover a mix of juices, water, and beer. “Seriously, Joel is a miracle worker,” I say, pulling out a water.

“Yeah, he is,” Easton agrees. “Is it weird that my best friend is twenty years older than me?”

“No. Not at all. Why? Did someone tell you that?”

“Yeah. But you know I don’t care about anyone else’s opinions.” He stares at me pointedly, and I read between the lines. But yours.

Refuting the new chill up my spine, I eye the script.

“Time to come clean, Easton.”

“When we split, I struggled with it so badly. It never felt right. Not once. I couldn’t understand why the most beautiful, intelligent creature to ever come into my life wasn’t for me . . .” he shakes his head and swallows.

Please, God, be merciful.

“I went a little rogue, and then I ignored it, but I decided I had to figure it out, or I wouldn’t be able to find any peace. LL’s incident kind of drove me over, and it was that night I realized the answer to everything plaguing me had been sitting in my messenger bag for months.”

He flips the cover of the manuscript.

“I’ve seen the movie.”

He shakes his head. “This is the book my mom wrote, the whole story.”

I pick it up and weigh its thickness. “With my father?”

“Yeah. It’s all in there. All of it.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Mom gave it to me when we were all at odds—before the night of the gala, before we broke up—but I was too pissed at them to bother opening it.”

For the first time since Easton pulled up, I feel real fear snake through me.

“Easton, I don’t know if I can go back there,” I shiver, tightening the blanket more firmly around me. “I don’t see the point.”

“Whatever trust you have left for me,” he whispers, “use it now, okay?”

Biting my lip, I stare back at him before my fear finally speaks for me. “I don’t see how this—”

“Beauty,” he murmurs, and in that second, our eyes connect, and all the space between us disappears.

We’re just raw hearts who completely recognize the other. It’s the best I’ve felt since before we separated on our honeymoon. Blowing out a breath, I slowly nod my head and turn the first page.