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“I know.”
“I don’t think you do,” I tell him, spinning in my seat to see him clearly, gripping the backrest. “You don’t get to walk in here like you own the fucking place and tell me you’re sorry. It’s not a band-aid that can magically make everything go away.”
“I know.”
“And stop saying that; you’re pissing me off.”
“I do, though. I promise I do.”
“No!” I snap, standing up so fast the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “You don’t have a fucking clue what you’ve done to me!”
His eyes don’t leave mine, and I can feel the anger bubbling in me from somewhere deep inside. From a spot that used to be locked up tight.
“You’ve made me afraid to sleep.”
“I know.”
“I’m afraid to leave my house.”
“I understand.”
“My best friend is dead.”
I notice something in his face changes, barely, but I catch it.
“I know,” he continues. “My sister too.”
I clench my jaw because whatever it was that flicked across his face, I’m positive mine just mimicked.
“Because of you,” I argue.
“Yes.” His head comes down with an agreeing nod.
The single word settles over us, keeping us weighed down. He isn’t defending himself or making excuses. He’s simply accepting every piece of my hatred for him.
I hate that.
Slowly, he takes a step toward me… then another.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me, darling.”
“Good. You’d die waiting.”
The last step brings him directly in front of me, so close I have to look up at him.
“I want you to understand that I didn’t do any of this for fun—not a single part of this has been fun for me. I’m putting myself in a rough position, doing things I don’t want to do. That person on the phone with you and the person who took you out… that’s who I really am. That’s who I want you to see me as.”
“Okay, so I’m just supposed to believe that taking me to Sweet Scoops wasn’t some part of Ghost’s elaborate plan? You didn’t take me out and pretend that you didn’t kill my boyfriend? That listening to me cry on the phone when you’re the one who killed Blaire isn’t you manipulating me into liking you?”
“Maybe a little,” He sighs. “But you can’t blame me for liking you so much.”
He goes to push my hair behind my ear, but I shove his hand away. With the way he’s looking down at me, breathing heavily, I almost wish I hadn’t.
“Stop.” The word fights its way out.
Preston begins to lower himself, and at first, I think he’s just crouching, but one knee touches the hardwood, then the other. He looks impossibly out of place down there.
“Preston…”
