Page 8 of Never Yours

“You don’t need to stay or babysit me. I’ll be fine.” I sigh. “I was awful to you. After losing my vir— I mean, after we… you know.”

He frowns, and I swear a rumble comes from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Shit. Nothing gets past him.

“That I was awful to you?”

“No. What did you just say?” His eyes are dark, but I don’t know what to make of it other than he probably won’t let this go.

“Please don’t make me say it,” I groan.

“Were you a virgin?”

“What? Pfft. No.” I keep my expression neutral, but my heart stops. “What does it matter?”

“Because I was. I was young, and a fucking idiot, but never for one moment have I regretted it was you.”

My mask slips and my heart restarts for the first time in what feels like forever. It wasn’t just me… With a voice quiet, I finally admit, “I was, too, and I don’t regret it was you, either.”

“Fuck.” Caleb huffs a laugh and slides my legs into the truck, muttering, “The best and worst night of my life.”

caleb

. . .

As I get into the driver’s side and start the truck, Ingrid asks, “It was the worst night of your life?”

Needing to touch her, I take her hand and brush my thumb back-and-forth on hers. “I wanted you for years, and wasted my one shot at being with you.”

“We were kids. It never would’ve gone anywhere. You enlisted and were shipping off in a month; I was leaving for college.” She takes a deep breath, but then chuckles softly. “The sex was bad, but I mean it when I say I don’t regret you being my first.” I close my eyes, and my head hits the headrest. I was so embarrassed when I came way too fast. I still am. “Hey.” She cups my cheek, forcing me to look at her, and sighs, “I’m just sorry we couldn’t stay friends after.”

“Friends. Right.” The word stabs me straight in the heart. “We really don’t need to talk about this. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pulls away and nods, sitting back in her seat as I shift the truck into reverse.

On the road, the silence is eating at me. It was never like this with her, and I fucking hate it. Each street light, every stop sign, the occasional crosswalk with pedestrians—not once does she look forward or at me. She was trying to make light of everything, maybe even a damn olive branch, and I managed to screw it up with my pride.

When we pull up to the house, we remain in our seats, the tension so thick you’d need a fucking chainsaw to cut it. We speak over each other saying, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” I groan, raking my hand through my hair. “This is on me. I’ve been on edge since Pop told me you were coming. And then I saw you with Travis…”

Ingrid finally looks at me. “It’s not like that with him.” Gripping the steering wheel tightly, a growl rattles in my throat. “Cay, what’s going on?”

“It was supposed to be you and me,” I admit a little too quickly.

Her gaze falls to her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, shaking her head. “That’s sweet. But, we were never together. We hooked up once, ten years ago.”

Before I can defend myself, Pop emerges from the house, and I roll down her window as he approaches the truck.

“Hey, Ingrid,” he greets cheerfully. “Hope you had a good flight.”

Her tone light, she replies, “I did, thank you. And thanks for letting me stay here.”

“None of that.” He waves his hand dismissively. “You’re family. I fixed the leaky kitchen faucet, but if you need anything else, you can give me or Caleb a call.”

She nods thoughtfully, and Pop opens the door for her. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll… see you around?”

“Yeah, sure.” I try to mask my disappointment, but by the look on Pop’s face, it may as well be written in marker on my forehead.

Pop grabs her suitcase from the back and walks her to the door. When they reach it, he hands Ingrid a key and says something that has her wrapping her arms tightly around him. Irrational jealousy with a dash of anger—directed at myself—overtakes me, as I white-knuckle the wheel.

---