Chapter 16 Heston #2
I take my sunglasses off, bow my head, and dig my fingers into the corners of my eyes.
It’s true that her honesty that day cut deep, but her words were nothing I haven’t been repeating to myself over and over.
There are a million different ways I want to defend my past decisions because she made it clear that she resents me “kicking her to the curb.”
She’s entitled to her own interpretation of what happened. But I don’t think she has a clue about the truth.
Would it make me feel better if I made sure she saw things from my perspective and better understood the circumstances of what happened? Maybe. But it wouldn’t help much if she’s in love with someone else. Not for me, anyway.
“Are you happy?” she asks.
Well, since you asked, no. I’m absolutely fucking not. I’m burning with jealousy of a guy I’ve never even met who’s probably going to kiss you and ask you about your day later tonight. Every time I think about it, I want to throw up.
“No,” I answer honestly. There’s no sense in lying when she’s already seen a text from me that would prove otherwise. Still, I keep the more detailed string of thoughts inside my head where they belong. “Are you?”
She bites the corner of her thumbnail and looks down with a worried brow. “I don’t know anymore. I stopped considering that, I guess.”
I slowly push off the railing to stand up straight.
Her answer isn’t worse than a simple yes, but it’s close.
Learning that she’s not considering her own happiness is dangerous for my level of restraint.
Knowing she might not be satisfied with where she’s at in life might be all the fuel I need to step in and flip the script.
She takes a step back with wide eyes as I climb the fence and drop to the ground on the other side, right in front of her. My survival instincts are begging me to inch closer and touch her because I remember how alive it used to make me feel. But my feet stay planted anyway.
“Start considering it, then. Do what makes you happy.”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are hopeful and unguarded. Too soon though, she blinks away their softness and puts her barrier back up. It makes me want to hold her face in my hands and beg her to never hide her true feelings from me again.
“I’m not sure I remember how,” she responds with a sad shrug. “Maybe I never knew.”
That last part is a lie through and through, and I hate how hard it is for us to stumble upon the truth now. It was the easiest thing in the world for us in the beginning.
“Why’d you unblock me?” I ask.
“Why did you text me?” she whispers back.
And why are we wasting time asking each other questions with answers that all lead to the same exact conclusion?
Hattie looks down, rubbing the distressed wrinkle in her forehead, and I’m reminded exactly fucking why.
The ring on her finger sparkles in the sunlight.
Getting kicked in the stomach would feel better than seeing it. My hand twitches at my side, and before I can give in to the impossibly strong impulse to touch her, I curl it into a fist.
Christ.
The number of times I’ve thought about touching her again is infinite.
There’s a hum of static between us. She shifts her weight, and for a split second, it almost looks like she might step closer.
When she closes her eyes, my gaze lingers on her face.
I could count the freckles from here, but I don’t really need to.
I already know exactly how many are sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks.
“Say something.”
I used to hate hearing that exact sentence. But coming from Hattie, with her eyes lifting to lock on mine, it doesn’t come off as a demand I can’t meet. It sounds like permission.
I’ve spent years holding back, believing that staying quiet is safer than letting my mouth wreck everything in my path.
That’s going to have to change. Because now, I’m sick to my stomach with the realization that when it comes to her, the words I’ve left unspoken hold more power to destroy than anything.
“Don’t do it.”
A shaky breath escapes her parted lips. “What?”
She stares at me, her shoulders drawn up tight. Maybe she’s waiting for me to take it back, and maybe I should, but I don’t.
I wish I could be the nice guy who cuddles her into a soft embrace and whispers in her ear that he understands why she needs to move on. If I were that guy, I’d probably offer her an encouraging smile, too. Wish her the best, and respect the giant, flashing roadblock in my path.
Instead, I double down.
“The thing that makes you unhappy,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Don’t. Do it.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say it again. And again. Stand here and beg until we see eye to eye.
But if I push it further right now . . . If I take it too far . . .
I know I’d cross the line and pull her toward me. She’d feel pressured. It’d be a mistake. And I don’t want to make any more of those with her.
The moment I turn away from her and walk toward the barn, I put my sunglasses back on and pull down the brim of my hat without looking back. I let out a sharp whistle, and Lucky bursts ahead of me toward the bunkhouse.
Hattie doesn’t have to agree to my demand, and even if she did, I don’t need to stick around to hear it. Because if there’s one thing I know . . . she heard me. That’s all I need for now.