I can't help but roll my eyes at his antics, even as something in my chest loosens just slightly. Before I can second-guess myself, I snatch the bouquet out of his hand, gripping it so tight my knuckles go white. "Drink now."
"As you wish," he says, and there's something in the way he looks at me, something warm and familiar and terrifying that makes my breath catch, but I don't let him see it.
Can I trust this? Trust him? I don't know. But I'm about to find out.
I slide onto a stool, placing the bouquet on the polished wood surface between us as he settles beside me, close enough that his knee brushes mine. The casual contact shouldn't affect me this much. But it does. And from the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers tap once against the bar top, he feels it too.
"Tequila," I tell the bartender. "On the rocks with a twist."
I'm not usually a straight shooter, but I started the night with it, and I need something strong for this conversation.
"Make it two," Trigger adds.
We sit in charged silence until our glasses arrive—and even after that. I need the liquid courage warming my veins before I open my mouth. I take a long sip, then another, before finally turning to face him. "The land lease expires in one week."
"I'm aware," he says, his face impassive.
"Of course you are. You own it." My grip tightens on the glass. "Decades-old family feud, rival ranches…" I trail off the next words, catching in my throat. "It's all I have left of her," I laugh. "Must be quite satisfying for you. After all, I didn't make high school easy."
"You think I want this?"
"Don't you? Our families have been enemies for?—"
"Twenty-five years," he interrupts, and I furrow my brow at the number. I have no clue where he pulled it from, and he doesn't give me time to figure it out before adding, "But we haven't. Not always."
His insinuation that we were ever more than enemies keeps me quiet, and I wait to see if he'll say anything more. I pulled off my mask at prom, and I'm certain he was the man behind the other, but I can't help but feel he's still hiding behind it.
"You left," he finally says.
"There was an accident," I say, eyes forward as I take a long, deep swallow, allowing the burn to do its job of uncoiling the tension wound inside of me just enough that I might actually survive this conversation.
As he raises his glass to his mouth, I can't help but wonder if his silence is purposeful. Maybe he wasn't referring to prom. We've crossed paths more than once since my best friend started dating his brother. Trigger made ignoring him impossible, playing games he knew would get under my skin. I madeignoring him an art form in return. But the fact remains: neither of us has brought up high school. Neither of us has mentioned that night.
I have my reasons for not calling him out. I wait. I can't help it. It's who I am. I believe every cause has a beginning, and I didn't know where his started. I didn’t have the pieces I have now. I didn't know why there were years of silence, and now suddenly he's everywhere I am. So, I waited, and now I know. The lease.
"I called," he says, his glass hitting the bar with too much force. Liquid sloshes but doesn't spill.
"That's a lie." My laugh is sharp and humorless as I take another sip.
"How could you know that?" His body shifts toward me, his knee knocking against mine under the bar. The contact sends a jolt through me that I refuse to acknowledge. "You blocked me." He states it matter-of-factly, like it's evidence in his defense.
"You took too long." I pivot on my stool, turning fully to face him. Our knees brush again, but I don't pull back. I don't give him the satisfaction of seeing me retreat. His gaze holds mine, something flickering in those dark depths—regret, maybe, or anger that I won't make this easy for him. We're close enough now that I can count his breaths.
"I went to your house before that." His voice drops lower, rougher. "Your maid answered the door and said you were in Louisville.” His lips pinch together before he adds, “You never left Louisville,” accentuating the last four words like they're an accusation. Like, somehow,I'mthe one who lied.
He’s right. I didn’t know he'd called, nor did I know he'd shown up at my ranch, asking about me, but I do know about his visit to my house in Louisville and the night he spent talking with Sydney, my bonus best friend that came as part of theLaney package. But his pointed charge now confirms he doesn’t know I came back after that night.
The glass grows slick under my tightening grip, but I don't look away. I won't give him that either. "I don't care to dig up the past." I set my glass down with deliberate precision.
"Then remind me again, why are we having this drink?"
"You know why." I try to shove down the humiliation and anger battling inside me. "Maybe I should be asking why you’re entertaining it?" I say, more for an underhanded jab than anything, but a good fucking question, nonetheless.
He shrugs. "I need a wife," he says plainly before taking another drink of tequila. I know him well enough to know when he's bluffing. He's not.
"Wait…you're serious."
His eyes snap to mine and tell no lies.
