‘We need to talk.’ No more pretending. No more playing the part of the goofy, easygoing cowboy.
She hesitates some more though.
‘You can tell me to get lost, but you know as well as I do there are things that need to be said.’
Her jaw clenches, but to my relief she steps back, letting me in.
‘I should have told you Ash was coming.’
As soon as I say it, I realise it’s the worst way to have started this conversation. She nods slowly, like she’s taking that in, but there’s hurt in her eyes, like I’ve just killed a kitten in front of her.
‘You knew?’
Yep, there it is. The wounded accusation.
‘She messaged to tell me she’d be there.’
‘So … why didn’t you tell me?’
I move to the window, wanting to give her some space, and needing that space myself, as an insurance policy against reaching out and touching her.
‘I didn’t not tell you,’ I say carefully. ‘It just wasn’t that important.’
Another monumental screw-up. She practically recoils. ‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t.’ My voice is more urgent now. ‘Ash and I haven’t been a thing for almost two years.’
She blinks, looks away, toward the painting across the room.
‘But we’re still friends.’
‘So why not tell me then?’
‘Because I thought it might make you feel weird.’
‘Well, if you guys aren’t a “thing”, why would I feel weird?’
‘I saw the way you reacted, back in Goodnight. It didn’t seem worth raking over the coals of what I had with Ash, forever ago, letting it ruin the small amount of time we have left.’
She flinches heavily, then turns away, moving toward the minibar. I watch as she pulls out an open bottle of wine, cracks the top off it and pours a glass. Her hands are shaking a little as she lifts it to her lips.
‘I’d offer you a drink, but I presume you’re on painkillers or something.’
‘I’m not, actually.’
She throws me a look I can’t interpret, then turns back to the fridge, removes a beer and walks it in my direction. She holds her hand right out from her body, like she doesn’t want to get too close.
I bite back a frustrated curse, tell myself it’s a good thing that she’s offering me anything, and nod my thanks.
‘I don’t know what to tell you, Bailey. There is nothing about my relationship with Ash that would make her run down to me like that.’
Bailey makes a scoffing sound, moves back to her wine, cradles the glass without lifting it.
‘What? What does that mean?’ I ask, holding my beer tight.
‘You’re serious?’
‘I came here to talk.’
