Page 14 of Bend

I hate that it doesn’t work on me. Tthat my first instinct is to look for the hook.

“So,” I say, crossing my arms. “Why are you here?”

He leans himself back against the edge of the desk along the wall near the table, sliding his hands in his pockets. “Because this has been… awkward.”

“That’s one word for it.”

He exhales, gaze dropping to the carpet like he’s choosing the right way to say something. “I’m trying.”

The sincerity in his tone knocks the wind out of my sarcasm.

I glance away, throat tight. “I know.”

Silence stretches around the room for a second.

Outside, a car passes, bass rattling its windows. The motel AC kicks louder, then settles again. Sayshen clears his throat. “So, how are you doing?”

The question is simple. Normal even, yet it still feels like a trap because nothing about this is normal.

“I’m fine,” I say automatically.

His eyebrows lift, unimpressed.

I roll my eyes. “I’m alive.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No shit.”

He nods once, like he expected that answer. “You’ve been here a few weeks.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ve been…” He gestures vaguely, taking in the room. “Here?”

“I’ve been around,” I correct.

Because I have. I’ve walked the neighbourhood just to feel the air on my skin. I’ve gone down to the beach. Even found a little beach spot where the sand almost white and the waves sound like they’re talking to each other as they crash along the shore. I’ve wandered Ybor, slipping into vintage shops and record stores, buying cheap coffee and pretending I’m just another person killing time in the city.

I’ve also rode my bike until my hands buzzed and my thoughts quieted because truthfully all I wanted to do was go back to that beach house, and have it be different this time, but I knew it wouldn't be.

Talon would make sure of that.

Sayshen watches me like he can see the chaos of thoughts in my head.

“Okay, well, you can’t just sit in here by yourself all the time,” he says, glancing around the motel room. “You should go to lunch with Bexley and the girls.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

He’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He types something quick, then my phone buzzes on the bed.

“I just sent you Bex’s contact info,” he says, sliding his phone back into his jeans. “So don’t pretend you ‘lost it.’”

I blink at him. “Hold on, I didn’t even—”

“They’re all meeting up today,” he says. “Bex asked about you. She really wants you there.”

It’s getting harder to process kindness lately. My brain keeps waiting for the catch. The edge. The part where it all turns on me.