“I’m Remington. I’m a friend of Peyton’s. Her best friend, actually.”
“Friends?” I repeated. “Why isn’t Peyton here then?”
“She’s at work right now in the city,” Remington said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”
“Ah.” I nodded, looking the guy up and down. “So why are you here?”
“It’s Peyton,” the guy said, tearing his eyes away from me to stare at the floor. “She’s not doing so well. She—she’s heartbroken, honestly.”
This stranger’s words cut me deep and I dropped my gaze from him, pretending to focus instead on the grease lines in my palm. I didn’t know what to say to this; whatcouldI say? I’d been under the impression this entire time that she didn’t miss me at all, that moving back to Denver had been the best thing for her. I hadn’t any idea at all that she might actually be—heartbroken.
“Is she—is she okay?” I asked, forcing myself to meet the gaze of this stranger.
“Look,” Remington said, taking a step towards me. “There were many times these last couple of months that I wished Peyton would just leave you for good and choose Jake, just to help her get over you—”
“Jake,” I repeated. “The guy in the city.”
“Yes.”
“Is she still dating him?”
“I wouldn’t call it dating, exactly.”
“Well she didn’t choose me,” I said, cutting off his train of thought. “She left, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Remington said, tsking at me. “She just wanted you to choose her. Finally, she wanted you to choose her.”
I swallowed and started to shake my head, but then stopped because I knew he was right. I had done it again. Just as I’d done it before.
“I’ve realized recently that she never liked Jake—or anyone else—as much she loved you,” Remington said. “She tried, and that’s all anybody could have asked for, but you were the real winner in this game, Korbin Butler, and you blew it.”
I wanted to be angry at him. I wanted to ball up my fists and hit the wall, to yell and shout, but I couldn’t do any of that, because he was right, and I knew it.
“So what in the hell do I do?” I asked, abandoning my pride. “Because she refuses to speak to me. No texts, no calls, no visits.”
“Have you bothered trying to come and see her?” he asked, and I bowed my head in shame, shaking my head.
“No. I—I don’t know where to find her. I tried to get an address from her mother, but she refused, and I can’t blame her. I hoped eventually that Peyton would just answer the phone—justtalkto me.”
“She wants to,” Remington said, running a hand through his dark brown hair. “She wants to see you, but she won’t. Because she’s shattered.”
My legs felt weak below me suddenly, and I turned to lean against the wall, hoping it was enough support to keep me from falling. To think of Peyton in so much pain was to think of the absolute horrors I’d inflicted on her, and I fucking hated myself for it.
“Look,” Remington said, his eyes roaming around the room, checking it out. “Peyton is my best friend, Butler, and I can’t just stand aside as someone like you rips her heart out over and over to stomp on it.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” I said softly, but he didn’t pay me any attention. Now, he was looking out the front window, watching my men run drills in the parking lot. He seemed to be checking out Hansen’s ass, but maybe that was just a broad assumption.
“I can see the appeal that Peyton finds in you,” he said, turning his attention back to me. “You are much cuter than the last few.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Anyway.” Remington shrugged on his jacket, a woman’s pea coat, and tied the belt in front, flipping his head as though he was trying to flip all the hair he didn’t really have. “I have a date with my boyfriend this evening, so I need to get back and get ready. But I knew—well, I knew it might help if I came out to talk to you face-to-face. Because I knew she wasn’t going to.”
“Thank you,” I said, and the words felt painful in my throat. “Thank you for coming. It—it really means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well, I just hope you do something with it.” Rem flashed me a smile that I was sure wasn’t sincere, and a second later he vanished out the door. Before I could take a step, however, he was back, poking his head in with a smile. He reached into his bag for a pen and paper, scribbling something down before handing it to me. “Next time I’m in town maybe we can all get drinks, or something,” he said with a wink. “See you around, Korbin Butler.”
I stared at the spot where the man had been standing, too caught off guard to even think straight about what had just happened. Then I glanced down at the paper. It was an address in Denver; hopefully Peyton’s address, and I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. I was in awe, really, blown away that a stranger to me could drive out here to my place of work just to tell me how badly I’d fucked up. I couldn’t even resent him for it, either. Because he was fucking right.
