Chapter 7 Heston
HESTON
Unbothered.
Very chill about this.
I repeat the lies to myself as many times as possible before straightening to stand and turning away from the car she thinks she can hide in. One look at her, and I knew I might as well stop trying to talk myself into feeling anything close to unbothered or chill.
I lift my hat and shove a hand through my hair as I cross the lawn and step onto the porch. A car door opens and closes, followed by the sound of Blythe pulling out of the driveway and leaving. Since when have she and Savannah been hanging out with Hattie?
I put my hands on my hips and fill my chest with as much air as it’ll hold. Soft, slow footsteps come up behind me, and I make myself turn around. Her arms are crossed, and she only meets my eyes for a few seconds at a time before snapping her focus to something else.
I stare at her, not sure of what to say yet. For an entire summer, the best one of my life, she wouldn’t have hesitated to crash into my chest with open arms. Not now.
The last time we stood this close, it didn’t end well, and it doesn’t feel like this time will end much better. The stark contrast makes my head throb.
Her arms unfold, and she holds them out on either side of her body. They aren’t for a hug. They’re a challenge. She’s widening her eyes, cocking a hip, and letting out a frustrated huff that’s barely loud enough to hear.
Say something, she dares.
My head falls forward as I rub furiously over my brow. Say what? How the fuck are ya, Hattie Jo? Met any nice men you’d like to marry lately?
I’ve thought countless times about what I’d say to her. But now? What in the fresh hell am I supposed to say about her getting engaged?
I realize my chest is heaving, and I need to get a damn grip. My hand drops from my forehead, and I lift my chin, trying to ease into a conversation with her for the first time since that summer. It’d be a lot easier if she had answered any one of my phone calls after she left.
“This your house?”
Her arms cross again, and she leans back slightly, as if hearing my voice makes her want to put more distance between us. “Yes,” she whispers.
I nod and can’t help but furrow my brows. “You don’t live in Tish?”
“I just said—,” she bites back before closing her eyes and taking a breath to regain control of her tone. “No, I do not live in Tish. I rent this place. It’s closer to the clinic where I work.”
“In Westridge,” I point out, as if she doesn’t already know what town we’re in.
There’s an accusing edge to my voice. In what world did she think living here, of all places, after ghosting me for what felt like a century was a brilliant move?
She sighs. “Yes. In Westridge. I can live wherever I want. Is that a problem?”
Yeah, actually. It is. In case you forgot, I live in the same damn town, and I’d rather not run into you with your happy little family for the rest of my god-forsaken life.
Wanting her to live literally anywhere else but here seems like a short order.
But I know that’s unfair of me. She’s free to go where she pleases.
Be whoever she wants, with whoever she wants.
Reasoning with my own flawed expectations of her seems impossible right now, though.
They stick to me like glue, no matter how shameful they are.
Several more beats of silence pass. I’ve almost staved off the spiraling fury happening in my head, but not enough to stop myself from pulling the pin on the grenade.
I point my thumb toward the house over my shoulder. “He live with you?”
She instantly winces. Her shoulders are bunched with tension, and there’s not a single part of me that likes seeing her like that. I did not expect that reaction from her. Rage, maybe. But her quick recoil? It makes me feel like an ass.
It goes against every one of my instincts to let it ride instead of apologizing. What I really want is to fall at her feet and beg her to tell me that this is all a joke, and that she came back here for me.
The ring on her finger catches the light, and I’m seeing red all over again.
She parts her lips to answer. “No. He lives on the ranch.”
Her dad’s ranch? That’s . . . unbelievable. No fucking way.
I’m wrapping this up before my meltdown turns frantic. I step off the porch with a clenched fist at my side, but only make it three steps before pulling my hat off and spinning back toward her.
Nothing about her matches up to my memory.
The way she stands, the expression on her face, and even the way her voice sounds are all too intentional.
I’m looking at her, but it’s like the girl I thought I knew isn’t even there.
I think she might be tired or scared. Maybe both, but I can’t tell.
It angers me that a look isn’t enough for me to know for sure anymore.
“What did it for you?” I ask, quiet and helpless. My thinly veiled rage takes a back seat, and a hint of sadness seeps through. “Is he rich? Good manners?”
It takes everything in me not to keep going down a long list of everything I’m not.
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“That’s not a no.” I screw my eyes shut in frustration. “Are you—,” the question gets stuck in my throat, but I eventually get past the stammer, “in love with him?”
She scowls at me, taking two steps toward the edge of the porch. “Why do you even care? It’s none of your business.”
“Really? That’s strange. Seeing as how I’m invited to the—” Goddammit. I’m fighting not to sound like a blundering idiot. “The— fucking ceremony.”
She whips her head to the side to hide the pool of tears in her eyes.
This conversation feels like it’s going to go off the rails in a matter of seconds. A hollow headache is already building behind my eyes, and even though she’s clearly hurt by the way we’re speaking to each other right now, as am I, I genuinely don’t know how else I could possibly react.
Not a single word from her since she left. Nothing before licking the back of an envelope and shoving an invitation to her wedding at me like one final punch to the gut.
“I know what you want to say,” she offers, teetering between annoyance and sad realization. “How dare I move on?” She breathes heavy through her nose, keeping her eyes locked on mine with an intensity I’ve only seen from her one other time. “I don’t have a choice in the matter anymore.”
No choice? What the fuck does that mean?
“At least I have my pride, though, right?” She continues.
“Because I will not be kicked to the curb, then come running back when the dust settles and try to fix something that I did not break in the first place.” She takes a step back this time, then softens her voice.
“I guess we have pride in common, don’t we?
You carry yours around like a damn crutch, and even if you hadn’t pushed me away and racked up a laundry list of things worth apologizing for, you’d still be too stubborn not to let your feelings rot in silence until it’s too damn late. ”
There’s no untangling this mess. I already feel like I’m choking as she waits for me to respond. It’s a feeling I know too well. It has a way of disarming me at the worst possible times.
I want to start this over and try again. Choose my words carefully before I speak this time, instead of letting the panic do the talking for me. She’s looking at me like I’m holding a knife to her neck, and that’s the last thing I ever wanted.
I suppose it wouldn’t matter. She said it herself. It’s too late.
I take a deep breath, put my hat back on, and rub the center of my chest. She’s watching me. Waiting. My eyes feel heavy, but I let them collide with hers anyway.
It’s not enough. I can’t say sorry without opening my mouth. I can’t tell her that I think she’s making a mistake with only a look.
“Honestly,” she tilts her head back with a quiet huff.
“I know it’s hard, and you try your best sometimes.
But my god, it’s exhausting having to beg for crumbs in a conversation with you.
” Tears fall freely down her cheeks, but she doesn’t swipe them away.
The screen door creaks as she turns to yank it open. “I can’t do this right now.”
I nod slowly as she disappears inside, forcing myself to accept reality. The wind picks up, angry and cold as it whips through the silence.
I don’t look back as I walk to my truck. I don’t even slow down at the yellow light on my way out of town. With every mile, my speed increases as if I still have time to run out of. I don’t. There’s no time left at all.