32. Chase
Chase
Steele slams to a stop and I bump into his back. “Shit.”
He’s staring at something. I follow where he’s looking and land on—
Fuck.
My whole body locks up.
Summer and Addie are tucked into a corner booth. They haven’t seen us yet. Their heads are bent together, and Summer looks like she’s about to crack her margarita glass the way she’s gripping it so tightly.
“Is that—” Steele’s voice comes out strangled.
“Yeah.”
“That’s both of them, right? They’re here. Together.”
“Yeah.”
He blinks. “This is real?”
I shove my hands in my jeans pockets. “Mmm.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Should we leave?”
I don’t fucking know. Should we?
Before I can decide, Addie spots us and turns ghost white. Summer slowly turns her head, a frown marring her face. She goes completely still when she finds me.
My skin turns cold.
“Too late now,” I murmur.
It would be way too awkward if we left now.
“Let’s just go order a drink and sit on the other side—”
I catch the moment Steele’s mask slides firmly back into place. A slow, wide smile splits his face. He has that mischievous glint in his eyes. I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose as his feet propel him forward, heading for their booth before I can finish my sentence.
Great.
Releasing a deep breath, I reluctantly follow.
Addie’s eyes sweep over Steele, from dark hair down to booted toe.
“Hewitt,” she says, her tone dry.
“Walker.” He turns to regard Summer. “Hayes? Shit.” He laughs. “That you?”
He leans in for a hug and Summer’s body locks up.
On instinct, I grab his elbow and haul him back. “Don’t touch her.”
It comes out harsh and firm.
“Shit, sorry. I just wanted to say hello.” He holds up his hands.
“It’s fine,” she replies, looking down.
I can see him trying to piece it together when something flickers across his face. Yeah, dickhead. Remember why she left?
“Damn, Hayes. You got famous on us, huh?” He rocks back on his heels.
“More famous than you,” Addie spits.
“Ah.” His brows shoot up. “There she is. The little live wire I used to—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she warns before her gaze slides to me.
“Walker,” I offer.
“Shitmore.”
Steele leans against the side of the booth, crossing one leg over the other.
Addie sighs. “What do you want, Steele?”
“You.”
Jesus Christ.
She barks out a laugh. “I’d rather guide my father into my mother.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I’d rather deep-throat a cactus. How’s that?”
He shakes his head. “Still don’t believe you.”
They continue bouncing insults off each other, but I stop listening.
I’m locked into a silent stare-off with Summer.
She shifts uncomfortably, her hands falling to her lap, but she doesn’t back down. Neither do I.
Everything around me falls away. The way she’s watching me feels foreign. Like she’s looking at me but not seeing me. It’s as if she was expecting someone else and I’ve come up short.
Her eyes trace the patterns of ink climbing my arm before drifting and lingering on the stubble I haven’t bothered to shave, then rove to my shoulders, down to my scuffed boots, and back up again.
If she’s looking for the kid I was at eighteen, she won’t find him. He doesn’t exist anymore.
“You know what, Hewitt?” Addie leans forward, and I break eye contact as she continues. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming over to this table, pretending we’re old friends.”
“We were friends,” he says.
“Exactly. Were being the operative word. Have you been hit in the head too many times running around that little arena?”
“It’s a football field.”
She flicks her curls over her shoulder. “To-may-toe, to-mah-toe.”
Steele’s grin widens. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
She glares at Summer. “Do you want to go? My buzz is wearing off.”
“Oh,” Summer says. “I—”
“Don’t go,” I hear myself say.
She momentarily freezes.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
“What?” she asks.
I make sure there isn’t any warmth in my voice when I reply. “We aren’t staying to talk.”
A crease forms over her brow.
I turn to Steele. “I need a drink.”
I walk to the bar without waiting for his response.