Page 22 of The One I Left Behind

“And arresting kids for the same shit I used to do.” He grins and finishes his beer, standing.

I know he’s going to go get another one, but I spot Gillian walking toward the bar. I bolt up out of my seat. “I’ll get the next round.”

“Just like when I was fifteen, you’re following Adams around,” he calls after me.

I ignore the jab, but he’s got a point. I was definitely more into Gillian than my friends when I was in high school. Sure, we all hung out most of the time, but there were nights I just wanted it to be Gillian and me.

The blonde bartender, whose name I still don’t know, eyes me approaching as she talks to Gillian. Obviously, they’re friends. She must tell Gillian I’m on my way because Gillian glances over her shoulder and turns her back to me even more.

I’m not going to relent. I want to talk this out. I want to be civil and not feel uncomfortable if we’re in the same room.

“Two beers,” I tell the blonde, hoping she scurries off and leaves me alone with Gillian.

Instead, she turns to the other bartender and asks him to get my drinks. I don’t know him either, but he barely looks at me while filling the beers and sliding them toward me.

After I pay, I linger, and the tension is like a bubble ready to pop between us. “Gillian,” I say, figuring she’ll ignore me unless I start the conversation.

She circles around with a sweet, forced fake smile. “Noughton. I didn’t see you there.”

I grind my teeth at the fact that she’s still playing this game of calling me by my last name. “Well, Adams, I thought you saw me when you walked in.” My gaze falls over her body, appreciating her outfit all the more now that I’m closer.

“Cute. Do the women in San Francisco like your flirty games?”

The blonde hands Gillian a drink. Gillian’s glossed lips tempt me as she places them around the tiny straw, sucking the fruity drink up through it.

I shift my stance, and her eyes stray to my crotch. Yeah, she still wants me. She might hate me, but the sexual tension is alive and kicking between us.

“I don’t much care about the women in San Francisco.”

She rolls her eyes, not believing me. “Excuse me.” She abandons her drink and walks inside the bar.

I rush back over to the table and leave the two beers with Brooks before I follow her.

“I’m not sure?—”

Whatever he’s going to say dies when the door shuts behind me.

I spot Gillian sauntering down the short hallway toward the bathrooms. “Gill?—”

She whips around, and her fake smile has been replaced with a pissed-off expression. “You don’t get to call me that.”

My shoulders fall, and I step closer. “Will you just let me say I’m sorry?”

“Is that all you want?”

“Well… I—” Not even close.

“You don’t have to apologize. We weren’t the first high school sweethearts who thought they’d make it and didn’t. I knew when you went to Clemson that you’d see what life had to offer you outside of Willowbrook and never look back.”

“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m sure I don’t. Just like you don’t understand what it was like here for me. It’s great that you’re home. I’m sure your family is really happy. But stop trying to talk to me. We don’t have anything else to say to each other.”

I step forward, and she draws back. I inch a little closer, my hand reaching out and she doesn’t move. I want to hug her and hold her and tell her how much I missed her. My arms are open and ready to embrace her. Our eyes lock, and her chest rises and falls. My own heartbeat hammers. Right as my fingers graze her temple, she flinches, turning her head away from me. My hand hangs in the air and I stare down at her, searching for an answer to why for a split second, fear stuck in her eyes, as if she thought I would physically hurt her.

“Gillian.”

“Nope.” She spins around and barrels into the women’s bathroom.

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