by Bromberg, K
Because I know when he walks out the door, I most likely won’t see him for another ten years.
“Oh.”
“But I wanted to pick up some cupcakes to take back to my assistant. She has quite the sweet tooth and deserves something for putting up with my crap.” He shrugs, his smile sheepish, and I’m immediately irritated at her. “And I wanted to talk to you again.”
My irritation wanes as my smile widens. “About what?” His eyes flicker over to where DeeDee is making herself busy in the refrigerated case behind me. I know he’s going to bring up Mitch, the wedding, and his offer to take me. Besides the fact that it’s a complete non-issue, it’s just more information I don’t want DeeDee to know.
There’s enough gossip about me in this town as it is.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to deflect. “It’s not even worth talking about.”
“You’re frustrating.” He steps forward, smile tight, and eyes glancing over my shoulder to DeeDee again. “What’s the big deal? If you don’t go, you’ll always wonder what if, and if you do go, you’ll know the answer.”
“I don’t need to know the answer. Things are fine just how they are.”
He raises his eyebrows and gives me a look that tells me he’s been talking with Ryder and knows how much I’m struggling to make the business work. “C’mon, Say, I’ve already looked at my schedule and I can swing the free time.”
My eyes narrow. “How did you know the date?”
“I asked Ryder.” He shrugs but his eyes hold no apology.
“You’re arrogant to assume I’d say yes. I don’t care what people think about me. Never have. Never will.”
“If there’s one thing I do remember, it’s definitely that.” His smile turns soft. Eyes unrelenting. “I always loved that about you.”
His comment strikes a very unwelcome chord. Loved. Loved about me. Past tense, Saylor. Past tense. Regardless, memories flash through my mind. The times I’d run wild and carefree and he’d just sit back and shake his head with that little smirk and let me do whatever it was I was doing without saying a word. No roll of his eyes. No flush of embarrassment. Just complete acceptance.
Be everything Mitch wouldn’t let you be.
Funny thing is, Hayes let me be me.
“Yeah, well . . . some things never change.” I shrug, a bit uncomfortable with the praise and needing to change the course of the conversation. “What kind of cupcakes can I get you?”
He doesn’t speak for a minute, lips pursed, eyes questioning me without uttering a word, but I get the sense he wants to say more but is holding back. His gaze flickers to the case and then back to mine. “Just a dozen of whatever is your favorite.”
“I’ll get them,” DeeDee says as she steps up to the display case with a pink and white striped box in her hand.
“Okay. Thanks.” I’m a bit startled because I wanted something to do to busy my hands and now I’m stuck looking at Hayes.
He smiles. “One of these days, Saylor, you and I are going to sit down and have a proper conversation where I can explain what happened. Why I left. And then you can decide whether you want to accept my apology or not. It will make life so much easier on you to have a reason, because this one minute you’re pissed at me, the next minute you’re smiling dance you keep doing has to be exhausting.”
And just like that he’s flipped the switch to my anger. “Like I said, you’re an arrogant ass.”
“Perhaps. But even so, I’d rather you know the why behind—”
“It’s been ten years, Hayes. Explanations don’t really matter anymore.” My fingers twist together. My feet shift again. The topic in general unnerves me.
“Reasons always matter. Always,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. We stand in heated silence because as much as I don’t want to admit he’s right, he is: about my constantly warring attitude toward him in the three times I’ve seen him since he’s been home, and about the fact that knowing why might help add closure to something I thought I’d gotten over but obviously haven’t.
“Here you go,” DeeDee says breaking the moment between us, placing the box on the counter beside me.
“Thank you, DeeDee. I appreciate it.” Hayes looks at her nametag and then back up to her, offering up his megawatt smile. DeeDee stands speechless, grin so wide her cheeks probably hurt. “How much do I owe?”
“It’s on the house,” I say.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want your charit—”
“I’ll walk you out, Hayes.” I move from behind the counter, effectively ending the argument I feel like purposely picking with him over calling me out on my schizophrenic behavior.
“Whatever the lady wants, she gets,” he grumbles to DeeDee but I can hear his amusement, know he’s probably flashing her a smile as he gathers his box of cupcakes.
I wait outside, surprised at the chill despite the sunny sky, and cross my arms over my chest to ward it off. The bell on the door sounds, telling me Hayes is behind me.
“You know, you’re still cute when you’re pissed off at me.”
“You are so frustrating,” I mutter and at the same time dislike that parts of me melt inside at the fact that he still notices. Still remembers.
“Saylor, I’ve been gone a long time. I don’t blame you for holding a grudge . . . but at some point, I’d like to think we can be friends again.”
“Friends? Is that what you want from me?” I tighten my arms across my chest, not to ward off the chill this time, but rather to protect my heart because there’s something about Hayes Whitley that just gets to me. To the parts I want to guard and yet know he can weasel his way into without really trying.
And that’s why I need to keep my temper front and center. Use my anger as a shield against this charming man, who is that perfect mix of rugged and pretty-boy handsome. The man who knows from experience exactly what buttons to push.
Because he screams trouble from a mile away in every sense of the word, especially to my heart, because he’ll never stay. Because he’s Hayes.
“Remember that night on Todd Schilling’s property?”
His change of topic gives me whiplash. I’m about to say which time, since there were so many nights we all hung out on his family’s stretch of land. Endless hours lost to the lot of us, acting like misspent youth when in reality we did nothing out of the ordinary. But I don’t need to ask which time he’s referring to because even with the many memories, I know.
How could I not?
“Yes.” My voice is quiet. Eyes inquisitive.
“Do you remember what I said after?”
I nod.
I protect those I love.
The emotions of that night are so powerful, the feeling of security he provided me with, even more so.
And I hate that with that single memory, that off-the-cuff phrase, he’s softened me. Made me remember those words and that promise while trying to push him away.
“I meant what I said then, and I mean it now. I did some shitty things to you and don’t deserve your forgiveness even though I’ve asked for it, but in the end, Saylor, you’re part of my family. Ryder’s part of my family. I can’t think of a memory before my twenties that the two of you weren’t a part of in some way or another. The Laytons have done more than their fair share of crap to you whether intentional or not. And I’d like nothing more than to help you out if you need it. Okay?”
The combustive fuel to my temper just burned out from the unrelenting look in his eyes and the honesty in his words. My pride wars against the emotions of my past. Against wanting to forgive and needing to move on.
On not wanting to still have feelings for this man—to hold on to the hurt he caused when he left, and remind me why I shouldn’t feel anything now. But how can I when he says something like that?
“Thank you. I appreciate it. It’s not necessary though. It’s probably best to leave Mitch in my past and try to make a new and different future.”
Hayes makes the connection between my words and what my eyes are saying. He knows he doesn’t fit in this world of common people and State Street anymore.
“The next time I see you, Saylor, I’m going to earn back the chance to be your friend.” The muscle in his jaw pulses. His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip.
But friends can break your heart too.
“Goodbye, Hayes. It was really good to see you again.”
I battle against every single part of me that wants to wait and see what he says next, to believe his declaration, but at the end of the day, all I have left is my pride. The only thing I can do is trudge forward. And with that in mind, I offer a slight smile and turn my back on the man I used to think held my future.
Because I need to return to my reality.
The sweet smell of the bakery and the comforting ring of the bell greet me when I pull the door open. DeeDee meets me with a wide grin and eyes still trained over my shoulder where Hayes is probably getting into his car. And I don’t want her million questions. Don’t want to feel like I just broke up with Hayes again when we never really broke up in the first place.
He left.
And I need to remember that. Need to not be blinded by the feelings he stirred up when I’m feeling vulnerable about Mitch’s wedding. I’m still recreating my life, and to some extent . . . me.
“So, uh, why do I sense that Hayes Whitley was more than just a childhood friend like you told me before?” DeeDee asks at my back as I wash my hands in the sink, attempting to refocus. However, the pounding of my heart tells me it’s going to take a few minutes.
I shrug in response and grab a towel to dry my hands on. “We dated for a while. Then he left for Los Angeles and I never heard from him again.” Why is that so hard to admit? When I turn around her eyes are wide, mouth opening and closing like she wants to ask so much more but isn’t sure how much she should pry into her boss’s past. Wise girl.
“That explains why there was so much sexual tension between you two. It was so thick you could cut it with a knife.”
“Oh Dee.” I laugh. Harder than is probably warranted but I don’t know where she gets these things from. “That’s funny. He’s definitely not suffering in the sex appeal department, but I think you need to step back from your romance novel addiction. Life is not like your books. Sexual tension can’t be cut. People don’t meet lifelong soul mates in grade school. And I assure you, the heroine doesn’t have an orgasm every single time she has sex with the hero. Okay?”
“But the hero sometimes pays for his cupcakes even though he’s told they’re on the house and then leaves a mysterious plane ticket on the counter before telling the assistant to wait and give this to her boss after he drives away.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out what she’s talking about until she slowly pulls a dark blue envelope from behind her back and holds it out to me.
“I think he still likes you, Saylor.”
“No. He doesn’t.” I protect those I love. Why do his words choose that moment to return to my mind? “I think you are both off your rockers.” I sigh as I turn the envelope over in my hand, disbelief owning my thoughts and the feeling of being handled fueling my temper.
I take a deep breath, prepare to be irritated, and open the envelope. Inside is a first-class ticket on American Airlines to Turks and Caicos. A paid-in-full reservation for the Seven Stars Resort and Spa under my name.
My pulse thunders in my ears. My hands shake. Tears sting the back of my throat. So many emotions—disbelief, anger, gratitude, irritation, everything—reverberate within me at the sight of these reservations and the amount Hayes must have paid in upgrades.
I move aside the hotel confirmation to find a yellow Post-It note in penmanship I know all too well.
Just in case you want to escape to paradise with me for a few days. It’s not to prove a point to them, but to prove one to you. You’re better than them, Ships. I’d love to help you believe it.
- Hayes
I stare at the note for a few moments and try to identify how I feel. I am so very grateful that Hayes is willing to take time out from his demanding schedule, if I wanted him to, and feel flattered he thinks so highly of me even after the past few days.
And I wonder if he remembers anything about me. In particular, how I hate to have my hand forced at anything. And if it is forced, how I’ll do the exact opposite to prove the point that I won’t be persuaded.
Kind of like how I’m feeling right now.
I look to the ticket in my hands. Know I’m not going to go. Can’t. The past is better left in the past. The bakery will survive somehow without it. So I try to figure out how to get his money refunded. How to thank him but at the same time pass on his offer.
And yet I can’t deny the feelings these little pieces of paper have filled me with: warmth that he’d even think to do this for me, disbelief that he has so much faith in me after how I’ve treated him this week, and peace by giving me the opportunity to make a choice over what to do.
I lift my eyes to see DeeDee waiting patiently and watching my reaction. Her smile tentative, her hope that I opt for the romantic happily ever after her novels provide visible in her eyes.
But we all know books are fiction.
The romance in novels is a crock of shit.
Sometimes the hero still leaves in the end.
And the heroine is once again left to pick up the pieces.
Saylor
Hands.
His hands are everywhere when I don’t want them to be. Over my mouth. On my chest.
The bite of gravel in my back. The press of his knees between my thighs. His excited laugh as I try to jerk my head free. So I can yell. So I can bite.
The taste of fear. It fills my mouth. Owns my senses.
The sound of crickets. They seem so loud. Screaming at him to stop since I can’t.
The wisp of grass against my legs. Cold. Bitter. Deceptive. Hiding the jagged rocks beneath it that are biting into my skin.
Just like him.
The scent of beer. On his breath. Seeping into the ground beside me from where I knocked it over in my struggle.
The distinct sound of the strap on my new sundress tearing. I saved up for weeks to buy it. And now it’s broken.
I’m not sure why I focus on that. On the rip of fabric.
Because it’s easier than thinking of what comes next.
Oh. God.
The strength in his hands. Holding me down. Preventing my escape.
I struggle. I kick. I fight. But a few things seem so vivid in my mind. The one that’s closing down. That doesn’t want to process what might happen next. Can’t.
“Saylor? Saylor?” The shouts of my name. Hayes. It’s Hayes.
I’m over here. Please. Please find me.
The sensation of warmth as my tears leak out and slide from the corners of my eyes down to my earlobes.
Cool night air on my belly from where he’s pulled up my dress.
A roar of sound. I think. I don’t know. I can’t process anything. But I hear it again and then his weight is gone. Missing.
I’m empty. Hollow.
I scramble up. Crawl—rocks scraping against my bare knees —to escape as quick as I can.
There’s a crunch.
A lot of shouting.
The oomph of an exhale as a fist hits a stomach.
An “I’m going to kill you” through gritted teeth.
The smack of knuckles on flesh.
“Go get help, Ryder. GO now.”
Another crunch of bone against bone.
My ears ring. My body is cold. I can’t stop shaking. Or crying. Or rocking back and forth with my hands holding my knees against my chest.
So I can disappear. From here. In my mind.
So I can pretend. Forget.
“Saylor. Saylor.”
I flinch as hands touch me. Try to fight against them.
“It’s me.”
I push him away.
“It’s me.”
My struggle ceases.
Safe hands run over my arms and back and cheeks. Direct my face up to meet his eyes looking right at me. Blood on his knuckles. A red mark on his cheek. A rivulet of sweat running down his temple.
Concern. Fear. Fury. Uncertainty. Disbelief. They’re all in his eyes, telling me he’s just as freaked out as I am.
But his voice is calm and comforting.
“I’m here, Say. Right here.”
His hands urge me to move. Lift me off the ground and position me to sit on his lap. Arms slide around me. Pull me into his chest. Against him.
My nose into his neck. His scent breaks through the fear. It smells like safety.
His warmth on my skin. My insides still cold.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re okay. I promise you’re okay.”
He holds me in the dark. One hand smoothing my hair down. The other running up and down my spine. The heat of his breath on my head. The vibration in his chest as he speaks. The tremble of his hand as he continues to soothe.
With words. And by touch.
Sirens in the distance.
I’m safe now. In Hayes’s arms.
“You’re safe, Saylor. Always. I’ve got you. I protect those I love.”
Saylor
I stifle what feels like my hundredth yawn of the day. My head hurts. My body is exhausted. My emotions are frayed. The dream from last night still heavy on my mind.
The sip of coffee scalds my tongue as I look around Starbucks. I turn from where I sit, my back to most of the tables so I can watch the ebb and flow of people approaching the counter. Followed by their trip to the station to doctor their java and then the frantic search to find a seat in the always-packed café.
Regardless of how much I focus on people watching, my mind still veers back to the nightmare I haven’t had in forever. It had to be Hayes’s words last week. His reiteration of the promise he’d made then, and the reminder in his note that he’d still keep it now.