He scrubs a hand over his stubbly chin. “We used to work really well together, remember?” I nod, thinking of how we used to spend most every afternoon writing songs. “And you’re passionate about music. You’ll be in the thick of the whole creative process, and I know you’ll get a kick out of that.” His voice is animated, his eyes bright, as he continues. “And you’ll love the house. It’s right on the beach, and it’s completely private, and you can swim or run or walk every day, hell, you can even do your yoga on the beach, and—”
“How do you know I do yoga?” Suspicion underscores my tone.
“I was speaking in general terms.” He shrugs casually. “Tons of New Yorkers are into yoga, it wasn’t a stretch suggesting it.”
He looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, and I have no clue if he’s lying to me or not. But in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter, so I let it go. “The house sounds amazing, and I’m grateful for the opportunity, but it’s not something I can get behind. Sorry.” I stand, making it clear this discussion is over.
He rises, staring at me across the coffee table. “Zeta, please just think about it. Sleep on it.” His soulful eyes plead with me, and I hate that he’s starting to suck me in. “We could renew our friendship. Help heal the mistakes of the past. You may not need that, but I do.”
“Don’t try and guilt me into this, because that will only have the opposite effect.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” He walks over to me, stopping a few inches from my face. “We were the best of friends before we were anything else, and I’ve missed that. You were the only friend I had who really understood me. And I know you too. I know you want to do this, but you’re purposely holding back.”
“You knew the girl I was, but you don’t know the woman I’ve become.”
“That may be true, but I’d like to get a chance to know her.”
I rub a tense spot between my brows. The intensity of this conversation is giving me a headache. Or it’s possible it’s the wine. “I’ll sleep on it,” I say, purely to get rid of him. I’m even more determined I’m not doing it now.
Tentatively, he reaches out, running his fingers through my hair. I feel his touch from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, and the most intense longing infiltrates every nook and cranny of my body. I jerk away from him before I do something I’ll regret. “Thank you for dropping by, but it’s late, and I’ve got work tomorrow.”
A look of incredible sadness appears on his face, and he nods. Bending over the box on the floor, he opens it, pulling out my jacket, scarf, and the envelope with the written offer. “You left these behind,” he says, placing them on the table. Then he removes a gorgeous bouquet of colorful flowers, shyly handing them to me. “And this is an apology for acting like an ass earlier.”
No one has ever given me flowers before, and the surge of joy lighting up my insides reminds me I’m on shaky ground. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
Our fingers brush as I take the flowers from him, sending fiery tingles zipping up my arm. Electricity crackles in the space between us and from his subtle intake of breath I’m guessing he still feels it too. I shouldn’t be surprised because it’s not like I ever fell out of lust or love with him. But he did…
My head is a mess as I walk him to the door, and I know I have to ask this. “Who was the girl?”
“What girl?” He frowns.
“The one you left me for.” I hate how pitifully sad I sound and how my throat tightens, my heart pounds, and my stomach twists into painful knots. Even after all this time, knowing I wasn’t enough for him and that I couldn’t hold onto him still hurts.
He takes his time answering me, rubbing his palms down the front of his jeans and shuffling nervously on his feet. In a quiet voice he says. “There wasn’t any girl, Zeta. I lied about that. There’s only ever been you.”
I step back as if slapped, my jaw slackening with shock. Peering into his eyes, I see the truth shining back at me, and I’m staggered.
I’ve always had tons of unanswered questions because of the way we broke up, but I never doubted there was someone else, because I was hardly the catch of the century and he was so amazing and gorgeous and attentive, and I knew girls must’ve been throwing themselves at him while I was still in juvie. I also knew he was a virgin back then, and horny as fuck, so I guessed some girl had tempted him with her magical vajayjay and that’s why he’d left. That knowledge, and the accompanying pain, crushed me for years, and it took me a long time to move on.
His statement has thrown everything upside down, and I don’t know how to think, how to feel. I don’t know if this changes anything or not.
The world spins, and I sway a little. He reaches out, holding onto my elbow, keeping me upright, as concern, remorse, and regret flare in his eyes.
“Why then? Why did you do it?”
He stares straight at me, holding nothing back, and so much passes between us in the moment it almost undoes me. His eyes radiate with pain when he answers. “I was scared, and I believed you were better off without me.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I can hardly speak over the emotion wedged in my throat. “You cut me out of the decision, and you didn’t even have the guts to break up with me in person. You were just gone.”
“Because I knew one look at your face would shatter my resolve and I wouldn’t go through with it. I also knew you’d come looking for me, so that’s why I lied about the girl, but there was no one. I swear.”
He takes hold of both my hands, his eyes welling up. “The truth is, I intentionally hurt both of us because I believed I was doing the right thing for you. I loved you enough to walk away even though it killed me, and if I had to do it all over again, I’d still make the same call, because I couldn’t take care of you back then. But I can now, and all I’m asking for is a chance to get to know you again. No strings or expectations. Let’s just do this and see where it leads.”
He rubs his thumb across the back of my hand in soothing circular motions, like he used to always do, and the feel of his callused skin against mine sends memories scurrying to the forefront of my mind.
“You hurt me so much, Ryder, and I don’t know that I can ever forgive you. I don’t know if this makes any difference,” I truthfully reply.
For a split second, I think he might actually cry, but he composes himself. “Everything I said earlier still stands. Don’t refuse this opportunity because of me. I promise I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable, and maybe this will help both of us to forget about the past, because I think you need that as much as me.”
