Chapter 30 #2
No. “Not for a second. But I thought it was a start.”
“A start?” she repeats. “Oh, so we’re rewinding to the beginning now?”
When I don’t answer, she studies me for several long moments, then sets her hands on the table.
“Okay,” she says, leaning toward me. “If this is your big reckoning, let’s do it properly.”
My stomach drops.
“I want the ugly version,” she continues. “This entire situation, all the not knowing, has had my stomach in knots. I’ve been sick about it, so the least you can do is give me the gory, gross details. Leave nothing out.”
I nod.
“Great,” Juliette says. “When did you decide?”
“Decide what?”
“To date me because you were mad at my brother.”
The air leaves my lungs slowly.
This is more painful than I thought it would be. “The night I was at your apartment and saw the pictures of him on your wall.”
There.
I said it.
Her lips part. “Wow, Aaron.”
Jesus Christ, I’ve never felt more like an asshole in my entire, miserable life.
“You were standing in my hallway.” She’s getting angry. “Looking at pictures of my family and that’s when you thought—Oh, perfect! Revenge vehicle acquired! I’ll screw Juliette over!”
The words sting because they’re not wrong.
“I had walked in on him and Bailey,” I say slowly, choosing my words as wisely as I can. “I was humiliated. Bitter. My ego was crushed. And then I’m in your place, looking at those framed reminders that he’s everyone’s hero.”
Her chin lifts. “He’s my brother.”
“I know.”
“You saw pictures of us growing up, and that made you want to use me?”
“It made me want to hurt him,” I correct quietly. “This wasn’t about you—this started because I was angry at him. For a minute, you were the easiest way to get back at him.”
“For a minute,” she repeats.
“Yes.”
Her arms cross defiantly across the front of her baby-blue short-sleeve sweater. “And how long is a minute in Aaron Bishop time?”
“A few days,” I admit.
One. Two, tops.
She lets out a breath that sounds like it scraped on the way out.
“So, when you were texting me—”
“I was still pissed.”
“When you asked me to dinner?”
“Still pissed.”
“And when we kissed?”
I swallow.
“That’s when things started to shift.”
Juliette rolls her eyes, hard, at the ceiling. “How convenient.”
On the contrary. “That’s where you’re wrong—it became inconvenient.”
She unfolds her arms. “What does that mean?”
I step a few feet to my left, coming closer to her side of the table.
“It was easier when I was angry and bitter. It was clear to me that Declan was protective of you—plus, he didn’t know how to behave around me. He was so fucking embarrassed to be found with his hand in the cookie jar.”
Juliette listens patiently, her ire beginning to thaw.
“The night we had sex, it was like…” I don’t know. “I was different. I hated myself. I knew I was a version my sister and parents would be ashamed of—I knew you didn’t deserve to be collateral damage.”
Her brow furrows.
“You’re telling me you caught feelings and that ruined your evil plan?”
“Yes,” I say bluntly. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
She stares at me for a long moment, like she’s trying to decide if I’m mocking her.
“I don’t like that I was ever part of a plan,” she says.
“I don’t either.”
“That’s easy for you to say now.”
I can’t stop my brows from rising. “You think I’m proud of it?”
“Pfft. I think you’re good at justifying yourself.”
I cannot argue my way out of that one.
She studies me, waiting for me to pivot and spin the conversation; to explain why my shitty behavior was noble and warranted.
It doesn’t come.
“This isn’t only about us,” she says finally.
“I know.”
“It’s about my brother.”
There it is.
“You hate him,” she says, stating a fact.
“I don’t—”
“Don’t,” she cuts me off. “Don’t lie to me again.”
Lie.
The words hangs between us like smoke in the air, lingering.
“Juliette, I don’t hate Declan,” I admit. “He and I have been through too much shit. That’s why I was so furious—I felt betrayed, and I let that fuel me.”
That’s the ugly truth.
Juliette scoffs, throwing her hands up. “The two of you can’t even be in the same room together! You can’t even be on the ice without wanting to fight!” She raises her voice. “I refuse to be the prize at the end so you can rub it in his face.”
“I don’t want that for you either, Juliette.”
She uncrosses her arms, but it’s not an invitation.
It’s resolve.
She’s come to a decision.
“If there’s any version of this that works…” Her voice trails off. “You have to make things right. You have to talk to him.”
I go still. “We did talk.”
She laughs. “You call that talking?” Snorts. “Okay.”
Right.
Yeah, that wasn’t talking.
That was two idiots posturing, waiting for the other to throw the first punch.
“What do you want me to say to him?” I ask, heat rising in my chest. “Sorry you slept with my girlfriend? Sorry I slept with your sister?”
Her head tilts. “You say whatever you need to say.”
Fuck.
“That’s not helpful.”
“It’s not supposed to be helpful,” she shoots back.
I drag a hand over my mouth.
“Don’t worry,” she adds coolly. “Declan is going to hate this as much as you are.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will.” I huff out a humorless laugh. “He’d rather block shots with his teeth.”
“Good. Then you’re even.”
Her breasts rise and fall, and I can practically hear her pulse beating from here.
“Hey, Aaron?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”