With a mugof tea between my hands, I sit at the breakfast bar, staring out the window. How I made it to my room without falling apart last night is beyond me. When he gave me hisI can’t lose youbullshit, I was genuinely surprised my heart still had the capacity to beat.
Last night replays in my head like a movie: the way he touched me like he couldn’t stop, the way he kissed me like he was drowning and I was his life raft. Then, in a matter of moments, with a few simple words, he shattered my heart.I like you, but…
Doesn’t he know in a phrase like that, everything before “but” becomes insignificant?
At least he let me get dressed before he delivered his blow. If he had given me that speech while he was still inside me, I would’ve lost it.
Maybe I did. Because when he said those words, quiet and careful, like they were meant to protect me...they pierced my heart, went right through me instead. Maybe what he did wasn’t cowardice in the way the world defines it, but hearing him talk himself out of something we’d barely had a chance to touch…tasted like fear. Fear feels like rejection. And rejection always feels like cowardice.
“Morning.” His voice snaps me back to the moment. He’sstanding in the doorway in a pair of gray sweatpants, his hair a mess like it always is first thing. He throws a crooked smile at me. “How did you sleep?”
I nearly double over at how easy his greeting is. Wow. Apparently, I’m the only one suffering an existential crisis. “Okay.”
Brows lowered, he takes a step closer. “You don’t feel well?”
“I’m okay.” Annoyance brews inside me, ready to spill out at any moment.
He shuffles to the coffeepot, only to freeze when he realizes it’s empty. For weeks, we’ve had a routine. Whoever wakes up first makes coffee for both of us. But after he made a fool out of me last night, I didn’t feel like making any for him. I wanted tea.
“Is ‘okay’ suddenly the only word in your vocabulary?” he asks as he fills the pot with water.
I’ve known him my whole life. I get what he’s trying to do, but lightening up the atmosphere won’t work. Not after last night.
“No, but I don’t feel like pretending everything is rainbows and unicorns just to keep you from feeling uncomfortable.” I shrug.
He whips around, frowning. “Riley, I didn’t mean?—”
A snort slips out. “That’s a very accurate observation, Hayden. You never mean anything.”
Fuck. I told myself I wouldn’t show him how much he hurt me, yet here I am, being dramatic.
My phone buzzes on the counter, cutting the moment short. A picture of Story appears on my screen, snapping me out of my anger. Without looking at Hayden, I grab my device and press it to my ear. “Hey.”
“Good morning,” she singsongs. She’s way too cheerful for my shitty mood. “How are you?”
The sound of her voice has a comforting warmth spreading through my extremities. “I’m okay. You’re up early.”
Hayden leans against the cabinet, legs crossed at the ankles, looking too damn good for my liking.
“I was too excited to sleep,” she blurts. “I’ve been dying to talk to you, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Elbow on the bar, I prop my cheek against my knuckles. “Did something happen?”
“Yes! You and Uncle Hayden! You’re his baby mama.”
Cold sweat forms on my forehead, and my heart thunks heavily. “How…how did you know?”
Story laughs wholeheartedly, clueless about the state she’s put me in. “Piper said whoever it is, it’s none of our business, but I was too curious to let it go. So, I did some Googling. And yesterday, I finally found what I was looking for!” she squeals. “Photos of him bartending at a place called Alchemy. There were so many pictures of him from that night, and I almost gave up, but eventually, I found the ones that solved the mystery.” She takes a deep, dramatic breath. “You were sitting at the bar, smiling. In another one, Uncle Hayden was with you, his hand on your waist. And in the last one, you were leaving the bar together, holding hands.”
“Story—”
“I’m so happy for you,” she babbles. “And for Uncle Hayden. You’re perfect together, and I promise to be the best cousin in the world.”
While she rambles on about how she remembered I didn’t feel well when I was in Santa Clara and connected the dots, I sit, frozen, my mind a mess. The photos could be easily explained, but my initial reaction basically gave me away.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to Dad or Piper. Or even my grannies. That’s not my place,” she says. “I just wanted to call and say I’m happy for you.”
Hayden appears on the other side of the bar, a frown etched onto his face, his jaw set tight. He’s listening in.
