by Cole Gibsen
I really, really am.
I turn the corner down the paint aisle. He’s not there. My confidence wavers, but I continue on. I can do this. I have to do this. I need to prove to myself he’s nothing special and then purge him from my system. When I find him, I’ll give him the proper dismissal he deserves.
I wonder if he’ll make up some lame excuse, or pretend not to recognize me. Either reaction will be fine. It’ll prove he’s a dick just like all the rest, and then I can move on.
I bet he’s not even as hot as I remember.
I trudge down aisle after aisle. No Reece.
My heart sinks into my knees. I need to find him so I can get over this stupid infatuation and get back to my life.
And then I do find him.
I turn down the very last aisle and find him crouched against shelves of PVC pipe. His eyes have the same wild look in them that they did the night we were at the pizza place. He’s looking at me in that unfocused way; I know he’s looking through me. He’s gripping the shelf behind him so hard, his knuckles are white.
If I was looking for a sign that Reece Montgomery is a man I don’t want in my life, this is it. I don’t have to have a psychology degree to know this guy is seriously fucked in the head. If I had any sense at all, I’d turn around, go home with my burger, and forget I ever met him.
But like my mom says, I’ve never been one for common sense.
Chapter Sixteen
Reece
Heart hammering, I spin, preparing myself to dive for cover, only to smack into a warm body. I cry out, raising my hands, preparing to fight.
“You’re okay.” A familiar voice cuts through my panic. “Everything is okay.”
It’s Emily. Or at least I think it is. The sand recedes, leaving the hardware store in its place. But no matter how many times I blink, my eyes refuse to bring her shape into focus. “Tell me it’s you.” I raise a hand to touch her cheek. Her skin is warm and soft.
She flinches before stepping back, letting my hand fall. She doesn’t want me touching her. Can’t say I blame her, but what surprises me is how it makes my heart twist.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” she asks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“You look like shit.”
Her blunt honesty makes me crack a smile and brings the world around me into sharper focus. “Probably. You look great.” I say this in hope of changing the subject, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Her signature red bandana, the same color as her lipstick, holds back her curls, while the neckline of her black blouse reveals the lacy edge of a red bra beneath.
This time when my throat tightens, fear has nothing to do with it. “So, how have you been?”
“Reece, please.” Em rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to do this. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Don’t have to do what?”
She huffs. “The small talk thing.”
“Isn’t that what people are supposed to do?” Just having her here beside me, pissed and all, slows my pulse and loosens my chest. Finally, I can breathe.
“Small talk is for relatives, friends, and acquaintances. We’re none of the above, and that’s okay.”
“Ouch.”
Her brow furrows. “I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s what we both wanted.” She angles her chin high, daring me to disagree. For someone who claims not to care, her wide stance and tight shoulders tell a different story.
Guilt snakes through my gut. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“Stop. I don’t want your apology.” She places a hand against her forehead. “I just want…closure.”
“Closure? I don’t have a clue what the hell you’re talking about.”
Leaning against a shelf, she lets out a long breath. “I need to know you’re an ass, that you’re just like all the rest.”
I jerk back. “You need to know what?”
“You used to come to the coffee shop every morning. We sleep together, and suddenly you vanish.”
Shame burns sour on the back of my tongue. “You told me you didn’t want strings.”
“Exactly,” she continues. “So why haven’t I seen you at the coffee shop? Do you have a girlfriend or—” Her eyes widen. “Oh, God. Are you married?”
I nearly choke. “I’m not married.”
For some reason, she looks disappointed by my admission. “Oh. I was hoping—” Tugging on a curl, she bites off the rest of her words. Her gaze drops to the floor. “Never mind. You probably think I’m crazy, and you wouldn’t be far off. I know I said no strings, but I’ve been thinking about you. Way more than I should.” She swallows hard. “God, I’m an idiot. Can you forget this encounter ever happened?”
She turns to leave, and I reach out and snag her wrist. Maybe it’s her sudden vulnerability, or the fact I’ve felt the same, but I can’t hold the truth in any longer. “You’re right. I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Thank God.” Her shoulders droop and she exhales slowly. “You are a jackass. That’s exactly the closure I was looking for.”
“You’re not even giving me a chance to explain?” I scowl.
“You don’t have to. I get it. And now I can move on.”
I give a frustrated growl. “God, you’re impossible, you know that? You act like you have it all figured out, but the truth is you don’t know a damned thing.”
Her eyes widen and she wrenches free from my grasp. “And you do?”
“More than you.”
Her mouth drops and she makes a small, choking sound.
I enjoy the silence for all five seconds of it. Something tells me it’s a rare occurrence.
She snaps her mouth shut and places a hand on her hip. “All right then, Mr. Teacher Man, if I’m so fucking clueless, fill me in. Tell me the real reason you stopped coming around.”
Shit. I walked right into that one. Still, she’s pushed too far for me to back down now. “Have it your way. Let’s do this. Yes, I’ve been avoiding you, but it’s not for the reason you think.”
“Ha.” Her laugh hits me in the gut like a punch. “Oh, please do enlighten me.”
The sarcasm in her voice ignites my blood, heating the words on my tongue. “It’s true, I barely know you. What I do know is you are a fucking coward. You may act all tough and shit, but the truth is you’re afraid of everything.”
Her cheeks burn crimson. “That’s bullshit.”
“Is it? You were whining about having no direction in life, but you’re too afraid to make a decision.”
“Whining?” The flush bleeds into her neck.
“You’re scared of relationships, of growing up, and starting an adult life. So you hit the pause button and feel sorry for yourself when the world passes you by.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, asshole—”
“But I don’t,” I cut her off. “I’m just as big of a coward. I’m afraid each time I leave the house. I’m afraid of living a life I don’t deserve. And I’m afraid of opening myself up to someone, only to find out that everything inside of me died in the desert.”
She blinks, remaining silent.
“Look, Em, I’m sorry. I’m not cut out for the casual thing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our night together—about you. And that scares the shit out of me more than anything. Because I can’t do a relationship, either. I don’t have it in me to give a woman what she needs.”
Emily makes a face. “I don’t understand you. Why does everything have to be so black and white?”
“Why is everything just varying shades of grey with you?”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what? This is good. We now know this won’t work—in any way, shape, or form.”
I rake my fingers through my hair. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”
“Okay. Experiment failed. We can move on.” Em pauses, her face softening. “For what it’s worth, you seem like a pretty okay guy.”
I can feel
my scowl softening. “You’re pretty okay yourself.”
She gives me a small smile. The tug I feel inside me when her face lights up makes me wonder for the millionth time if I’m doing the right thing by letting her go. But I have to. If not for me, I need to do the right thing for her.
An awkward silence swells between us like a canyon, the divide growing larger by the second. “All right,” Em says, taking a step back. “I need to go.”
I raise my needle-nose pliers. “Me, too.”
She pauses, licking her lips. “You can still come by for coffee. I promise not to spit in all of your drinks…just a couple.”
I almost laugh. Then I hear a man’s voice booming from the next aisle over. Invisible fingers curl around my throat threatening to choke me. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Don’t get so freaked out.” Emily frowns. “I was just kidding about the spitting. I swear I wouldn’t do that.”
I crouch low, pressing a finger to my lips.
Placing a hand on her hip, Emily arches an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing? Are you having another attack?”
“No,” I practically spit. “It’s my dad.” I point at the next aisle over.
“So?”
“So, I’ve successfully avoided him for several years, and I’m not about to stop now,” I answer, keeping my voice low.
She ducks her head, peering through the shelves. “Why?”
I give her a look. “That answer would require more time than I have right now.”
“And you called me a coward.”
“You really want to play the hypocrite game right now? What would you do if it was your mother in the next aisle?”
Biting her lip, she glances over her shoulder at the sound of the approaching voice. “You’re right.” She gives my shoulder a gentle push. “Get the hell out of here.”
I make a face and gesture to my cane. “Stealth and speed aren’t things I have anymore.”
“I know.” She gives me another push. “That’s why I’m going to stall your dad so you can get out of here.”
“How are you—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, shoving me again. “Just get the hell out of here.”
Before she can push me again, I spot the polished tip of my father’s loafer coming around the corner. I quickly spin on my heels and hobble down the aisle as fast as my damn knee will let me.
“Hi,” Emily calls out behind me. “You look like a man of impeccable taste.”
“I, uh, excuse me?” my father responds.
“I’m redoing my apartment, and I can’t decide between these two shades of green. What do you think? Though, now that I’m looking at your tie, I’m wondering if lavender is a better choice.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Oh,” Em answers, “is your wife the one who makes the decorating decisions? Is that who you’re talking to on the phone? Can I speak with her?”
“You want to talk to my wife?”
“Sure,” Em answers. “Unless, say, do you have an interior decorator? Ooh! Definitely call them instead. But finish your phone call first. I’ll wait.”
Discarding my unpurchased pliers in a nearby bin, I almost feel sorry for my dad as I exit through the automatic doors. Then I remember the way he looked at me when I told him I’d enlisted. The fuchsia fury that blazed across his skin and the way the veins pulsed in his temples are still imprinted in my memory.
The screaming that followed, the disappointment and the financial cut-off, none of that bothered me. I expected it. I didn’t expect, however, their absence at the airport when I was rolled off the plane in a wheelchair. Or the hours I spent watching luggage spin around and around the carousel as I waited, until the realization finally hit me.
They weren’t coming.
That cut deeper than any words ever did.
I climb onto my bike and fasten my cane to the side. After revving the engine, I prepare to leave, but something holds me back.
All these years later, I still remember what it felt like to be abandoned. And I’ll be damned if I do it to anyone else.
Muttering a curse under my breath, I know I can’t leave her—especially after she just saved my ass. But more than that, I don’t want to leave without her. And I’m not going to.
Em exits the store several minutes later. I pull my bike in front of her, blocking her path.
Her eyes widen, a ghost of a grin playing on her lips. “I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“Get on.” I motion to the empty spot behind me.
She folds her arms. “I’m borrowing my brother’s car. It’s right over there.”
“And my bike is right here. Get on.”
“You literally just told me you don’t want a relationship and you don’t want a hookup.”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
“Then what the hell will I be getting myself into if I go home with you?”
“I have no fucking clue.” And it’s true. I know taking her back with me will mean letting her into my head again, and this time I might not be able to get her out. But the alternative, letting her walk out of my life for good, is no longer an option.
I hold out my hand. “Get on the bike, and let’s find out.”
Chapter Seventeen
Emily
I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot.
The words echo through my head in a never-ending loop. Even the wind roaring through my ears as we race through the streets on Reece’s bike isn’t enough to drown out my self-loathing. God, why? Why am I such an idiot?
I’ve been with bad-news guys before. I’ve always been able to leave them on the curb without a twinge of remorse. So what the hell is it about J.Crew that has me coming back for a second serving of heartache?
Not that I’d ever openly admit to letting him hurt me the first time.
But he did.
And what’s to stop him from doing it again?
The wind carries a chill that bites into my skin. Before we took off, Reece handed me his jacket and helmet. I nestle deeper into that jacket now, soaking in the spicy scent of Reece’s lingering cologne.
A wicked plan crosses my mind. I could steal the jacket. Then I could cuddle inside it whenever I want. Even as I have the thought, however, I know I could never do it. For as much as I like wearing Reece’s jacket, I have to admit, I like watching him wear it even more.
Oh my God, I’m so pathetic.
Reece leans into a turn, and I tighten my grip around his waist. I press tighter than I have to, just so I can feel the warmth of him beneath his shirt. It wasn’t so long ago that same heat bled into me.
He’s using you, the voice whispers. He’s just going to screw you again, only to disappear.
The thought is sobering, and any warmth I felt quickly fades. It shouldn’t bother me. I’ve used guys dozens of times, and they’ve used me. So why does the thought of never seeing Reece again squeeze my heart so tightly?
That’s ridiculous, I think, shaking my head, trying to loosen the thoughts piling inside. Emily Garrett does not let guys get to her like this. It must be because he’s so different from my usual type—the deadbeats, artists, and musicians—that’s what makes him so interesting.
I could easily find myself another J.Crew to keep me entertained.
Maybe even a better one.
It’s the same sort of lovely lie my brain constructs to keep me drinking. You haven’t had that much. You’re still in control.
Reece pulls into the driveway of a small house—exactly the kind of place I pictured him living in. It’s a beige vinyl-sided ranch, with a neat lawn and fenced-in backyard. The landscaping is tidy, not a rock out of place, and the bushes trimmed in symmetrical rectangles.
When he cuts the engine, my heart does a somersault. Holy shit, I’m actually nervous. The feeling is quickly squashed by a wave of annoyance. This guy makes me stupid, and I don’t like it.
“This is it, in all its g
lory.” After Reece unfastens his cane, he extends a hand to me, helping me off the bike.
I don’t know why he says it like that—like it’s something to be ashamed of. Sure it’s small and boring, but it’s a house, with a grownup mortgage and everything. I bet he even has homeowners’ insurance.
Once again, I question what the hell I’m doing here. After all, what he said about me in the hardware store was right. I am a fucking coward. Because as much as I want to admit I’m an adult, all of this stuff—houses with mortgages, insurance, 401Ks, the potential for whatever Reece and I have between us—scares the shit out of me.
Reece escorts me inside, which is just as tidy and boring as the outside. Except for a folded American flag encased in glass and a box displaying several mounted military medals, the house contains no distinctive touches. Bare gray walls, beige couch, and a flat screen television are all that make up his living room. The only item with any personality is the slightly askew tackle box on the glass coffee table.
“You don’t like it.”
Startled, I turn to find him grinning.
“It’s nice…for a serial killer.”
He laughs. “Please, don’t hold back.”
“Never do.” I shrug out of his jacket and toss it on the nearby recliner. He doesn’t say anything, but his face twitches slightly.
A neatness freak, huh? Deciding to have a little fun, I flop down on the couch and put my feet on the coffee table.
He stiffens.
“If I put a piece of coal between your ass cheeks right now, would I get a diamond?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “Hilarious.” He motions to the kitchen. “You want a beer? I could use a beer.”
I make a face. “I always want a beer, remember?”
“Oh, shit, that’s right. I’m sorry.”
I wave a hand in the air. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have one.”
“No.” He settles into the arm chair across from me. “I’m good.”
A heavy silence settles over us, making me squirm. “So what the hell are we doing, exactly?”
He sighs, combing his fingers through his hair. “I was hoping you knew.”
This makes me laugh. “Nope. Not a fucking clue.”