Chapter 23 #3
"No, it's something else." I open my mouth to offer more and think better of it, the unspoken truth burning my tongue.
"Oh," she says plainly, her face a careful mask, making it hard to interpret how my answer was received.
Is she fishing because she suspects something between London and me, or is she genuinely curious?
Her eyes flick to mine too quickly, too deliberately.
She nods up ahead. "So what's Fisher's story? "
"What do you mean?"
"The two of you seem close. Is there something going on there?
" Each question feels like she's circling closer to a truth I'm desperate to hide.
Not because I want to, but rather because I don't know how revealing anything unravels the lie London has crafted to protect himself.
I never made it to the coffee shop this morning.
"Wow, you are super interested in my love life," I laugh and try to play it cool when, inside, I'm anything but. My laugh is so fake, even I can hear its nervousness.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I'm just trying to piece together how everyone fits." But it's her eyes that contradict her casual tone. "He's never talked about home, and suddenly, the whole town seems to be showing up."
"Hey," a voice I've been cautiously avoiding all morning rides up on my left, and my pulse skyrockets.
"We're going to stop at the lake up ahead.
Give the horses a break," London says, his eyes studying mine with alarming intensity before sliding over to Madison.
"Everything okay?" he says to no one specifically, but I can hear the nervousness in his voice, the kind that comes from interrupted secrets.
Does he think we were talking about him? If so, why does that make him nervous ?
"Madison," Trigg rides up on her left. "Race you to the lake," he challenges.
"Oh, I don't know…" she answers, seemingly uninterested, before a smirk pulls at the corner of her lips, and she's yelling, "Ya," squeezing her legs tight and nudging Titan forward. She gets a three-second lead before Trigg takes off.
I turn back to Asha, who simply rolls her eyes. Trigg didn't have to come back to Fairfield with us last night. In fact, if Mr. Fairfield had caught him, I'm sure there would have been hell to pay this morning, especially if he had seen them passed out on the same oversized lounge chair.
Asha was grilling me for information this morning as I was walking out to meet London when Madison pulled up.
Seeing how frazzled she gets around him and knowing what's going on behind the scenes between the two families had me seconds away from spilling things I had promised others I wouldn't. But when I asked her to tell me what had happened between them in the past, she deflected.
I know she's keeping secrets, which is why I'm holding onto mine.
Plus, she volunteered to come today, knowing exactly where I'd be going and who she might run into, and that says something.
"You didn't show up for coffee this morning," London says smoothly, his gravelly tone making tiny hairs prickle with awareness.
"I know. I forgot I promised Madison I'd go on a trail ride today with her and Abbey to finish Gypsy's assessment," I say, keeping my eyes forward, too scared to meet his gaze.
"You could have called," he says, as though it was the obvious solution.
"You haven't been someone I could call for a long time," comes out easily, my tone harsher than I feel.
"I'm sorry," he says, achingly genuine.
"Sorry doesn't fix things." I swallow hard, hating the reality of the past six years and the distance it's put between us.
"I'm not trying to fix anything," he says squarely .
My eyebrows rise, and I feel a flush rush my cheeks. I anxiously adjust my hat. I thought that's why he wanted to meet today—to fix things, to talk about everything that's happened and where we stand.
"Don't do that," he scolds, his voice dropping an octave.
"What?" I question, a little irritated. I'm tired of feeling off balance, like I don't know which way is up or down around him. The whiplash is utterly dizzying.
"Come on, Laney. I know you." His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. "You're in your head, believing I'm not right where I want to be, with the person I want to be with."
"Oh, I believe you're where you want to be," I say flippantly, and his eyes narrow on mine, their spark dimming subtly with the jab behind my comment.
He rolls his lips before saying, "Trying to fix something insinuates something is broken.
You're not broken. I'm not trying to put you back together and make you whole.
You're whole on your own. Always have been.
" His gaze lingers on my mouth as he speaks, and I have to resist the urge to touch my lips.
His words wrap around my heart and squeeze tight. It's unfair how time and circumstance have done nothing to diminish how hopelessly in love I am with this man.
I clear my throat, trying to steady myself against the magnetic pull I feel toward him. "So the talk…"
"Is still something I want to have." His eyes stray from mine only to slowly drag down my body, taking their sweet time before meeting my gaze again. The heat in his stare makes me shift in my seat.
"With a purpose of…" I wait for him to fill in the blank again, hyperaware of how his presence seems to fill all the space between us.
I thought coffee was going to be an apology, and since I was wrong, I want to make sure I'm not letting my heart run away with what it wants to hear instead of what is.
"It needs to happen. I owe you an explanation. I owe you a lot of things, but we should probably start there." He leans forward slightly as a gust of wind wafts his familiar scent toward me, and my resolve wavers.
Do I want explanations? Yes. But I also want to know if there's a chance at more. Last night, he admitted he's thought about me every day the same way I have him, but where does that leave us?
"Is that all?" I attempt nonchalance but fail.
He smiles. It's slow and devastating before he purses his plump lips to gain composure. The simple gesture sends a wave of heat spiraling through me. "For now," he says, but there's a promise in his voice that suggests 'for now' might not last very long.
The space between us crackles with everything we're not saying, everything we're both too afraid and too desperate to acknowledge.
Six years of distance hasn't dulled this pull.
If anything, it has only made it more dangerous.
We're no longer the people we were, but sitting here, drowning in his familiar gaze, I'm terrified to discover that some things never really change.