Page 63 of Meet Me Back Here

“That’s the look of a jealous boyfriend if I’ve ever seen one,” she says, arms crossed. “And not a man with a girlfriend waiting for him back home.”

“Melina, I’m sorry for being so incredibly disrespectful to you and Jenna. I’ll apologize to her too.” He sounds genuine, but I can’t help but notice that none of those words are correcting what she said about his jealousy or Bridget.

“No more bullshit?” Melina checks, picking up the discarded apple pie.

Forrest shakes his head.

“Then we’re good,” Melina says before taking the pie out with her. “You should come back out before people think you’re fucking in here.”

“Forrest,” I say when Melina’s gone and the swinging door has stilled. My head is swimming. “You do have Bridget, right?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

so maybe communication helps or whatever

“You and Bridget broke up?” I’m shouting the second the hotel room door closes behind me and Forrest. I kick off my shoes with more gusto than is warranted, leaving them strewn on the floor while Forrest neatly lines his up against the wall.

We made it through a tense dessert, then Forrest pulled Jenna aside to apologize for being rude in the kitchen—of course she forgave him, the saint—and we left. Forrest tried to explain in the car, but I told him to shut up until I wasn’t driving a multi-thousand-pound piece of machinery.

Now we’re back, and I’m ready to fucking fight.

It doesn’t make sense. It’s none of my business. It has nothing to do with me. But there’s this voice screaming in my head that I deserved to know. That he should have told me.

A tiny voice tells me I should have known something was up. He hasn’t brought her up once since we got here, and I’ve never seen them talk on the phone. I can pretend I assumed they’d checked in when I was busy, but not a peep about her in over two weeks should have been suspicious.

“It was only casual, but yeah. Things ended before we left,” Forrest says calmly, and his relaxed response only makes me more irritable.

“Why? Was something wrong? Did she do something?” I storm to the opposite end of the hotel room, running out of space before I’m ready to stop, so I turn and start pacing. I’m walking so forcefully that, even with the streamers being tied back into bunches so we can maneuver around the room, a couple flutter to the floor around me. It’d be comical if I wasn’t so pissed off.

Tell me it was her idea. Tell me she found somebody else.

“No, nothing was wrong,” he says, walking up to me. I push him aside so I can keep pacing. I can’t stand still right now, but I reach the end of the room too quickly again and turn back to him.

“Then why, Forrest? Why?” I stop in front of him. My pulse is through the roof, my heart thumping so hard I’m surprised I can’t see it leaping from my chest through my clothes.

Say it.

Forrest looks down at me, pain in his eyes.

“Tell me it’s not my fault,” I demand.

“It’s not your fault,” he answers quickly, his eyes fierce. “I knew I had to pick between her and coming here with you. It wasn’t an ultimatum. But I knew if I wanted to do this with you, it wasn’t fair to string her along. It probably wasn’t fair to string her along before that either. I had to choose,” Forrest says, his eyes a monsoon of emotion. He’s looking at me like he’s begging me not to make him lay it out.

But he’s here. So, it’s clear what he picked. Who he picked.

I need to hear it. I need to know.

“What does that mean?” I press. I find that dangerous red button and jam my finger into it.

“Camilla Rose, I’ll always pick you,” he says, splitting himself open before me. “I don’t want us to be just like you and Melina. I don’t want to just be your friend.”

Sound rushes in my ears, and I want to hit him. I also want to leap into his arms.

Only I don’t. I can’t. My feet feel rooted to the floor. I’ve been telling myself for months that Forrest didn’t feel this way. That I was doing a good job of hiding how I felt.

But there have been moments. Of course, there have been moments. The touches. Bringing up our relationship. Talking about the sounds I make… I just kept telling myself they weren’t what I thought they were.

“Forrest,” I croak. It feels like I’m going to break. “I don’t deserve⁠—”