34. Hadley
Chapter thirty-four
Hadley
I try to relax and listen to Wes tell me about his afternoon at the arena, but my mind keeps drifting back to our conversation about him supporting me financially.
Like I told him, I appreciate his willingness to do that, but I can’t take him up on this.
I need to find a job, figure out a way to make money. I want to be able to support myself.
It’s nice being able to count on him, and that does ease a little bit of the anxiety, but I still want to be self-sufficient.
I don’t want him to think I’m with him just because of his money and the life it allows me to lead.
I want to feel as though I’m contributing to the relationship financially, or at least pulling my own weight.
Would he really care one way or another? Probably not. But I do.
Maybe it isn’t even about the money, but more about needing to know that I’m good enough to land a job. That I could land a job if I truly needed to.
“Hadley?”
I blink out of my thoughts. “Huh?”
Shit, the way he’s staring at me makes me think he’s been talking to me for a little while, and I totally did not hear what he was saying.
“I asked if you wanted to watch a movie.”
“Yep. Sure.” I get to my feet and quickly clean up my garbage before following him into the living room.
I try to focus on the movie we settle on, Two Weeks Notice, but it’s hard.
I can’t stop thinking about the email I got this afternoon—the one that said, “We interviewed a lot of great candidates. It was a tough decision to make. We’ll keep your resume on file in case we expand and need to hire more photographers,” which basically means we interviewed better people and you’re not good enough.
I knew it was a long shot, and I tried to tell myself that even getting an initial interview was a confidence boost, but at the end of the day, I still wish they’d at least asked me to the next round.
Then the other rejections came in, and that was the icing on the cake.
I hate applying for jobs.
Going roller skating after many years of not skating was probably not a good idea. But I saw the skates in the window of the store downtown when I went for a walk, and one thing led to another. I thought it would be a good way to blow off steam. Get a little workout in.
Unfortunately, I didn’t see the root that had grown under the sidewalk and pushed it up until it was too late. I’m glad that all I did was scrape my knee and bruise my ego, because it could have ended so very badly.
Groaning, I run a hand over my face.
Wes pauses the movie, turning to me. “You alright?”
“Sorry, my mind is elsewhere. I think everything is catching up to me, and I’m starting to feel sore.”
“Do you want to take an Epsom salt bath? We can watch the movie later.”
“A bath sounds nice.” I start to stand up.
“I’ll get it set up for you.” He gets to his feet. “You stay here. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
I sink back into the couch, content to let him draw the bath for me.
It’s nice to have someone to take care of me when I don’t feel good or, in this case, when I’m hurting.
To have someone to help carry the weight, even if it’s simply listening to me vent.
I haven’t truly had that before. Not that my brother and parents haven’t been there for me, but I’m realizing it’s a different feeling when it’s your partner, the person you chose to have in your life.
Hours later, when I’m tucked into Wes’s side in his bed as I’m falling asleep, I swear I hear him say, “I love you.” But before I can ask him, his soft snores fill the room, and soon, I’m also drifting off to sleep.
“I’m home,” Wes yells the next day when he walks into the apartment around lunchtime.
Home. Is this my home now? Do I want it to be my home?
I do. Scary as that sounds. I do want this. I want us. I want Weston Reynolds.
I want it to be real.
All of it.
Forever.
The thought has my heart skipping a beat.
“Hey,” he says, and I shake myself out of my thoughts.
I close my laptop and turn to where he’s casually leaning against the wall that leads into the living room, his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts. My eyes have a mind of their own and rake down his body.
“Hi. I missed you.”
He gives me a cocky grin. “Oh, yeah.” He saunters over and gives me a kiss before sitting down on the couch next to me. “So, I have this idea I want to run by you.”
“If it entails tying me up and/or blindfolding me, I’m in. Wax and heat play, no thank you. Sorry, I have to draw the line somewhere.”
He chuckles. “Not that, but I think that could be arranged.”
“Good.” I smirk. “What’s this idea?”
He pulls at the back of his neck, fidgeting in his seat. What’s going on? Why is he nervous?
“When I was at the arena earlier, I ran by Sutton’s office to talk to her.
She told me that the team is going to be down a photographer come the start of the season.
” I raise my eyebrows. “I threw your name in the ring for the job. She told me to have you email her a link to your portfolio, but it sounded as if she was interested in you filling the role.”
“Weston,” I sputter. So much for his BS that my not having a job isn’t a big deal, and I should take my time to figure out what I want to do. “You crossed a line.”
“What? I was just trying to help.”
I throw my hands up. “By basically getting me a job. Because I can’t get one myself.”
He frowns. “No, Hadley. I recommended you. If you get this job, it’ll be because you deserve it.”
“I hate to break it to you, Weston Reynolds, but I’m only going to get this job because of you and my brother. If I was someone else off the street, it wouldn’t matter how good my portfolio was.”
“And you have a problem with me recommending you?”
“I do.” I cross my arms. “Last night, you told me I should take all the time I need to figure out what I want to do with my life, and it’s fine that I don’t have a job. Now here you are getting me one.”
He opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I—that wasn’t my intention.”
I get to my feet. “So me being an unemployed photographer is a problem for you. Got it.” I snatch my laptop off the coffee table and storm past him. “You’re no better than all of my exes who wanted me to change, Weston.”
“Hadley, please. I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask you to get me a job.” I stomp into the guest room, the room I’d made my own but haven’t slept in for a while, and slam the door behind me. I set my laptop on my dresser, then push the blankets down and climb into bed, hugging the stuffed Buc-ee to my chest and trying not to cry.
Here I thought he was different from all my exes. But, nope, he’s the same as all the other guys who tried to change me in some way, shape, or form. And I thought him breaking up with me would hurt the most. I rub a hand over my chest, trying to ease the ache that’s there.
I sob into my pillow. I knew our relationship was too good to be true. But I never dreamed that what would break us wouldn’t be that he didn’t want to be with me forever, it would be that he wanted me to change.