Page 56 of Trust Fund Baby

“Roxie, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” she snapped. “Mean to leave without a word? Mean to disappear like you did when we were kids? You’ve got a real talent for screwing things up, Sebastian. At least this time you made sure to just get it out of the way before we got in too deep.”

I swallowed hard, my throat working like it was trying to push gravel down.

“That’s not what happened,” I said, quieter this time. “I didn’t just walk out on you. I got a call from my father about a family breakfast he forgot to mention was happening and a work emergency—”

“There’s always an excuse with you,” she repeated, her voice unwavering as she crossed her arms over her chest. “That’s the thing about you, Sebastian. You assume every action you make is the right one when you make it. You’re short-sighted and you don’t think things through. And somehow, I’m on the receiving end of it again. Because you choose yourself instead of others. But luckily for me, trusting you isn’t a mistake I’ll be making a third time.”

Her gaze was steady, cutting through whatever thin armor I’d built up on the drive here. She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt. And the worst part was, I’d put that look in her eyes before.

Part of me hated thinking that maybe she was right. Maybe I had no business coming back into her life because all I brought into it was disappointment.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” I said, taking a step closer, careful to keep my voice low so it didn’t carry. “I’m asking for five minutes. That’s all. After that, if you still want me gone, I’ll walk out of here and never bother you again.”

For a moment, her jaw worked like she was chewing over the idea, weighing whether I was worth even that much of her time. Then she glanced past me, toward the far end of the gallery, where a tall man in an off-rack suit was watching her with the kind of intensity that made my skin crawl.

Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly when she looked back at me. “It’s funny how often you tell me you’re not asking for forgiveness, Sebastian. Maybe that’s the issue. Maybe you should be asking for my forgiveness. Because you don’t get to set terms with me,” she said, softer now, though the edge was still there. “Not anymore.”

Then she turned and weaved through the crowd of people. And this time, I didn’t bother reaching out to her. The warm glow of the gallery lights framed her silhouette, and the soft murmur of the guests swirled around me like a tide I couldn’t swim against to reach her.

My chest tightened, a mix of frustration and something far more painful knotting inside me. Roxie had every right to shut me out. Every reason to protect herself from the mess I’d made of our past, and maybe even our future. But standing here, knowing I’d let her down again, was like swallowing shards of glass.

The man she had glanced at—the one in the cheap suit that was trying its hardest to blend in with the wealthy tailored ones around us—pulled her into an intense conversation that Roxie looked like she’d rather not be a part of. I caught sight of an earpiece that matched Roxie’s in his ear, and I got the feeling that he was her boss.

He was leaning in close, speaking in low tones I couldn’t hear from across the gallery. Roxie’s face tightened, her jaw clenched, but she didn’t respond. As he walked away, her eyes flicked toward Michelle, who had just returned from wherever she’d disappeared to, and spotted Roxie.

Michelle’s expression shifted from curiosity to concern in a heartbeat. She stepped toward Roxie and whispered something that made Roxie’s lips press into a thin line. Roxie shook her head, refusing whatever Michelle was suggesting, and glanced back over her shoulder in my direction.

Roxie’s eyes locked on me for a split second, sharp and unreadable. Then, without a word, she turned back to Michelle and covered her mouth to whisper something.

Michelle glanced at me then, her eyes briefly flicking with sympathy, then back at Roxie. She sighed softly before she reached out to pull Roxie into a hug. Then she made her way across the room to me.

“Sebastian,” Michelle said, her voice tight. “I think it would be best if you left now. This isn’t the moment for you.”

My brows furrowed at the unexpected dismissal. The sting of rejection came sharply and suddenly. But part of me knew better than to argue, especially if Michelle was now putting her foot down. Roxie clearly didn’t want me there, and Michelle wasn’t about to let me make things worse.

“Michelle,” I said, her name coming out as more of a plea. “I thought you were going to help me.”

Michelle, one of my oldest friends, tilted her head with a look of sympathy in her eyes. “I want you to be happy, Seb,” she said, reaching out to squeeze one of my hands. “But I don’t think that will be with Roxie. I’m sorry, but you really should go.”

A painful realization dawned on me as I saw Michelle walk away and rejoin Roxie. Roxie would never trust me. Not after this. She was certain she’d pinned me for exactly who I am—selfish, short-sighted, and always putting myself first rather than anyone else that mattered. However, the most upsetting thing about this was that I couldn’t shake the feeling that she might be correct. Maybe who I was at my core would never be worthy of Roxanne King.

I hadn’t meant to hurt her. I thought I was doing the right thing, and yet still I’d managed to ruin things between us in even less time than they’d been back on track.

Maybe I wasn’t the guy for her after all. Maybe she was better off without me.

Roxie was obviously done with excusing my behavior again, and maybe I should be, too.

I stepped out of the gallery into the dark evening without saying goodbye. The difference was, this time, I was sure that was the right thing to do.

20

Roxie

The moment I walked into Winn’s workshop, the scent of sawdust filled the air, combining with the subtle aroma of coffee from the old thermos on his workbench. A quiet forest lay behind his property, and the next house was over a mile away. With a light dew on the grass and a soft breeze among the leaves, it was a perfect summer morning. And the perfect place to try to clear my mind.

The large roll-up door was partially raised, allowing sunlight to stream in and create long warm stripes on the concrete floor. Winn was bent over his workbench, smoothing the edge of a large oak board with a plane. He moved with calm precision, the blade’s path effortless.