Page 68 of Mad Girl

“Why the suit?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. “Aren’t you headed back to the beach after this visit?”

You shifted in your chair. “We left the beach a long time ago. It didn’t—um—” You stopped. Passed a hand over your mouth. Stared over my shoulder. “It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the same…without you.” Little shrug. “So I’ve started an internship at the firm.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I have loads of free time—now that I’m not staying with you. It gives me something to do.”

“Hence the suit,” I said.

“Hence the suit.”

“Funny how that’ll work out exactly the way I said it would. You’ll take what was supposed to be mine.”

Your gaze flared, more resentful than angry. “I don’t plan on taking anything from you.”

“But you will. Because that’s over for me, Casey. That’s done.”

“It’s only over if you decide it’s over.”

“It’s over no matter what. So take it. It’s yours.”

“No. I don’t want it without you. We’re meant to be a team.”

“We were never meant to be anything. Why would you even want that? After everything I’ve done?”

Finally. I threw it out there. The question that’s been burning a hole in my chest since the first time you visited me in here.

But you only looked away. And that pissed me off.

“Why are you here?” I demanded. “Shouldn’t you be angry?”

Your gaze snapped back to mine, sharp enough to wound. “I am angry.”

“Why aren’t you angrier?”

“Who says I’m not?”

“You don’t act like someone who’s angry.”

“Believe me,” you said darkly, “I have my moments.”

I shook my head. “You’re only here because you feel responsible. You’re letting guilt override your anger.”

“I am responsible. What I said to you that night⁠—”

“Was justified. I deserved what you said, and I’d also deserve it if you never came back.”

You leaned forward, eyes on mine, drawing your hands into fists on top of the steel table. “When you care for a person, you keep showing up—even when you’re angry. Even when looking at them makes your chest ache.”

Your comment made my chest ache. “Please. When someone’s hurt you as much as I have, it’s foolish to keep showing up.”

You leaned back, smoothing down your lapel, your hand tattoo flashing at me. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? If you want to hurt yourself, you’ll have to do it some other way, because I’m not playing into it.”

“Oh, come on. Let’s talk about how crazy it is that you haven’t cut me out of your life yet.”

Your gaze drifted over me, counting the signs. The set jaw. The rigid posture. My fingernails digging into the backs of my hands. All signs I wanted a fight.

“We could do that,” you said, “and I’d definitely have to agree with you. I could also tell you the full range of emotions I’ve experienced since you left. That, in addition to feeling angry, I feel saddened. Betrayed. Disgusted. Fooled.”