It’s already hard to breathe knowing this entire night will be devoted to Chase—his memory, anyway—I don’t need my clothes to help choke off my airway. Add the anticipation and dread swirling around in my gut, knowing Hayden will be here… It’s a wonder I’m not sporting hives.
I've managed to avoid him all week, but there’s no escaping it. I'll see him tonight, and there’s no cheery kid to hide behind. No drink either. I tried that a few days ago, after Max’s last lesson, and it didn’t do shit for me. It might have actually made me feel worse instead of delivering the numbness I was chasing. So, I figure if I can’t bury my feelings with alcohol then maybe they can’t be buried. Maybe I should just accept them. Starting with Hayden.
I know I need to talk to him, I’m just not sure what to say. How do I apologize for being such an ass? Can my actions even be justified?I’m sort of hoping his inherent desire to fix people will give me a little leeway. Still, I wouldn’t fault him if it doesn’t. You can only act like a complete dick so many times before people stop giving out chances like candy.
Rolling my neck in a vain attempt to loosen the material closing in on it, I catch a glimpse of him across the room. He’s stunning in a slim, cream-colored suit that shows off his trim build.
That’s nothing new.
Well, the fancy clothes are, but not the fact he’s beautiful.
If I’m being honest, I’ve found him attractive since the first time I saw him. I was a jerk to him because of that—not because my attraction freaked me out but because goading him into hating me seemed like the best way to avoid the temptation he represented—but that sorta backfired since our sparring was fun. It became even harder to push him away once he started believing in me… believing I could be better.
I still think he's making a mistake by caring about me, but I'm tired of fighting it. I’m tired of trying so hard to be the villain. I don’t want to anymore. Hopefully, I haven’t already screwed things up by running out the other night.
Speaking of, I can’t for the life of me understand why he isn’t more pissed about that. Why he hasn’t cornered me and called me out instead of giving me all the space in the world to act like a coward. I appreciate that even though it confuses the hell out of me. I may have no idea what to say, but the fact that he hasn’t forced me to say anything makes me wonder if he regrets what happened. I don’t want him to, even though I have no right to feel that way. Not after how I walked out.
For the hundredth time today, and for the millionth time since Chase died, I just wish things could be normal. I hate that I have agaping hole in my chest—hate even more that part of me wants it to stay empty, fearing that if I let someone in it might end up making it bigger. The only reason I’m even considering trying to make things right with Hayden is because somehow he makes that hole feel smaller. Not gone, just… not as overpowering as it is when I’m alone.
I don’t know how he does that, I only know I feel better around him, so I need to make things right. I’m not sure this is the best time, though.
He’s with the rest of my friends, laughing and smiling as their eyes travel the room, enjoying the uncharacteristically extravagant spectacle I assume. Then his gaze seems to linger on Deacon, and I see red. He may be one of my closest friends, but he’s more about the notches on his bedpost than finding a nice girl, or guy, and I won’t let Hayden put himself at his mercy. Even I’m a better choice than that.
As if he can sense my displeasure, Hayden’s gaze lands on mine, and his body goes still.
I’m probably scowling, though he doesn’t seem offended by that so much as intimidated. Or maybe curious? Whichever it is, he makes no effort to move, much less avert his eyes, leaving me helpless to do anything but reciprocate.
The longer we stare at each other, the harder it is to ignore the tether pulling us together. To pretend I care that he’s probably better off without me. It might make me a selfish bastard, but if there’s any chance he wants me… Like I said, I’m done fighting it. I’m done fighting a lot of things.
Holding his gaze, I cross the room until we’re standing face-to-face. Up close, his brown eyes are wary, but not hostile.
Leaning forward so my words stay between us, I start my confession. “You look stunning.”
“It took you all week to come up with that line? I expected better.” He sips his drink indifferently while I stand there like an open-mouthed idiot, trying to come up with a response.I wasn’t expecting him to dismiss my olive branch so quickly.
When nothing comes to mind, I laugh. Not some macho little chuckle either, a full-on belly laugh that has tears pooling in the corner of my eyes.Damn, I needed that.
He stares at me like I’m deranged—understandably so—then cracks a tiny smile of his own.
“It wasn’t meant to be a line. You really do look incredible.” I’m expecting it to feel strange to say that without any animosity since we’ve barely spoken to each other without it, but when a bashful little flush colors his cheeks the hole in my chest seems to get even smaller.
“You look nice too.”
“Dance?” I jerk my head toward the dance floor behind me, vaguely aware that my question has piqued the interest of the guys surrounding him, who know that’s not my style. But at least on the dance floor they can’t eavesdrop.
“Oh, um.” He bites his lip and glances to his feet.
“Please?” The music switches to a slow song—perfect timing since that’s how I planned to dance with him anyway—and he gives me a short nod.
I lead him into the throng of bodies and spin him so he’s facing me. He seems to think twice about lifting his arms high enough to wrap them around my neck, so he rests his palms against my chest, which I like better anyway. Setting my hands on his hips we sway back and forth in silence until I find the courage to speak.
“Did you mean it? When you said you could be something for me tolive for?”
Hayden’s brow furrows just a fraction before he answers. “I’m not supposed to. It’d be better if your reasons aren’t connected to another person, so implying I could be that for you was totally inappropriate. Unprofessional. Sel…”
“Did you mean it?” I interrupt.
Big doe eyes latch onto mine. “Yes,” he whispers.
