Page 97 of Interference

“Simon. No. We can’t go back to—” The words halted in my throat. They felt like a lie. I’d been tiptoeing on all the eggshells he’d laid down for all this time, and I just… I couldn’t keep doing that. I was tired. I was done.

So, I uncrossed my arms, looked him in the eye, and told him the truth:

“I don’t want to go back.”

His lips parted. For a long time, there was nothing but confusion in his expression. He withdrew his hands and stared at me as if he didn’t understand what I’d said.

I didn’t repeat myself. I didn’t try to apologize or clarify. If anything, I just tried to stay on my feet as my own words threw off my balance. They hadn’t even crossed my mind until the moment I’d breathed them to life, but now it was like I’d finally said something that had been trying to burst out for longer than I could remember.

After God knew how long, Simon asked, “What do you mean, you don’t want to go back?”

“I mean exactly what I said.” I stepped away just to put some space between us, and I finished taking off my tie. “We’re done, and I don’t want to go back. Let’s just get through this season, let the team know, and move on.”

“So… that’s it. You just… We invested all that time and energy into us, and now you’re done.”

I couldn’t stop the caustic laugh that escaped. “Didn’t you just admit that I’m the one who did all the work trying to save us?” I shrugged out of my jacket and yanked a hanger out of the closet. “You checked out. And you took so damn long to come around that by the time you did, I’d already moved on.” I focused on putting the jacket on the hanger. “How long did you think I was going to wait?”

The bewilderment in his voice shifted to anger. “You really are fucking Wyatt, aren’t you?”

I laughed again and rolled my eyes. “Seriously, Simon?” I faced him again, folding my arms as I tilted my head. “Really? That’s the only possible explanation you can find for—”

“You can’t tell me it’s not convenient as hell,” he growled. “We break up, you’ve already got a guy living in our house, and now you have no interest in me.” He narrowed his eyes. “How am I supposed to interpret that?”

“You can interpret it however you want.” God, I was so done with this. “I haven’t laid a hand on Wyatt. He has nothing to do with this. I don’t even know if he’s queer, for fuck’s sake!” A lie, yes, but I didn’t feel bad about it. I wasn’t going to out Wyatt to my ex, and the smokescreen would throw Simon off the scent that I was somehow involved with Wyatt.

Simon eyed me like he didn’t buy it, and my usual frustration just… wasn’t there. I could argue with him for hours, trying desperately to change his warped perspective of something I did or thought. He knew I hated when he told me what I thought or felt or wanted, especially when he was wrong, and it never failed to get under my skin.

Tonight, I just didn’t care. He could think whatever the fuck he wanted. If he slept better believing that I was getting railed by Wyatt every time we were alone, then fine. He could enjoy making himself miserable with his own mental porno.

“Whatever.” I shrugged and headed for the minibar in search of something that wasn’t the wine he expected us to drink.

Simon was silent for a minute or so. Long enough for me to find a bottle of some local microbrew. I had enough time to get the bottle open and take a deep pull before he spoke, his voice colder than the beer on my tongue:

“What’s to stop me from letting the team know about us sooner than later?”

Icy panic stopped the breath in my throat. “Are you…” I put the bottle down with a shaky clink. “Are you threatening to out us?”

He shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? Do you think I want to keep this up”—he gestured around the room again—“with someone who obviously doesn’t want to be in the same room as me?”

I wanted to remind him again that he was the one who’d broken up with me and put us in this position, but I was suddenly hyperaware of the thin ice beneath my feet. “Simon. We can’t tell the team. Not yet. You said yourself we need to ride out the season and—”

“Yeah, I did. But now…” Another shrug, this one even more dismissive than before.

It took a moment to fully process what he was saying.

“Are you blackmailing me?” I stepped closer and glared hard at him. “I either get back together with you, or you drop the bomb and get me traded out of Seattle?”

“I’m not blackmailing you. I just don’t have any incentive to keep it quiet, do I?”

I swallowed, not sure if I was more hurt, angry, or scared now. “Simon. Please. I want to stay here. In Seattle, I mean. And didn’t you say you don’t want to fuck things up for future couples?”

“Maybe they need to see how badly it can blow up in their faces,” he growled. “So they know what they’re getting into.”

My lips parted. Had he always been this manipulative?

Before I could say anything, though, he deflated and looked away. Then he brushed past me toward the closet, undoing his own tie. In a resigned voice, he said, “I won’t out us. I know you want to stay in Seattle.”

I chewed my lip. “So why threaten me with it?”

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