Page 63 of The Revenge Agenda

My eyes dart up to his, but I can’t hold them long enough to pick if he’s being genuine. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t tell you I was engaged. I know that. It was—it is—my biggest regret.” Ian holds up his hand to call over a waiter and orders us both a drink. “It’s a hard story, and it’s taken me time to come to terms with things.”

“What things?”

He pulls his hands back and crosses his arms over the table. “You really want to hear this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but it’s not pretty. My ex—Hunter—I met him at a conference. He was holidaying in the same hotel I was staying at. We hit it off, and it was like a fairy tale. He was sweet and attentive and kind. A fox in bed. We didn’t get to see each other much because of different cities, but we were both determined to make it work.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Well, he was. I didn’t notice, but he started to get controlling. Wanted to know where I was and where I was going. Who I was with. Called every day and would get shitty if I was out or still working. Then he drove up randomly to see me one day—and you know how I hate being caught by surprise—but I couldn’t tell him to leave. He organized a romantic dinner and proposed. I didn’t want to say yes, but I felt stuck. It was in fucking public, Rush. The whole restaurant was staring at us. When I tried to talk to him about it later, he brushed it off, told me I was overreacting. I’m not proud of it, but he had a hold on me. I’d let him control too much, and I didn’t know how to get out.”

The more Ian talks, the more he paints a picture of a Hunter I don’t know, the more confused I get. Hunter isn’t like that, and I know he’s saying all of these things to make himself look better, but … does he actually believe them? I can’t pick up on any doubt. I’m not sensing a lie. I really wish I was better at these things because while I can mask and mimic my way through a situation, the hard part is getting a read on it to begin with. Here would be a good moment to sympathize though.

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was. I’d thought that was my life now, that I had to go along and hope things would get better. And then I met you.”

Suspicion prickles in my chest. “What about me?”

“You freed me. You came into my life and showed me someone genuine. Someone who cared and loved. Someone who I thought Hunter was before his true self came out.”

It’s a real struggle not to defend Hunter.

“I tried so hard not to fall for you, but I did. Rush, you were my everything. I tried to stay away. Then I told myself I’d only slip once, but you had a spell on me. You made it impossible to resist you. Every time you called or messaged. Every time I saw your face.”

The passion in his tone should probably be convincing me, but I’m oddly detached from it all. Does he really think that’s what happened? Our memories of the events are very different, and yes, I acknowledge my memory isn’t the most reliable, but I was sure it was him pursuing me. He’d show up places he knew I’d be. He’d call and beg to see me. He’d guilt me if it had been days without seeing him, and I’d always been happy to meet because I was in love. Or at least, I thought I was.

It’s hard to believe it now though.

“I knew you were my future,” he whispers. “I knew I couldn’t let you go. I was planning to break up with him after Christmas—we hadn’t even talked about him moving in with me. He showed up with his family one day and said he was staying. I panicked.”

It’s plausible. Almost believable. People say there are always two stories and the truth is somewhere in the middle. In this case, there’s three of us. I know Hunter and I see things differently, but there’s truth in both of our memories. Is there truth in Ian’s as well? I scratch at my palm.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I was embarrassed. Almost scared of him. It made me feel weak. I never wanted to be that way in front of you.”

“Thank you for telling me that.”

He straightens. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t need to, Rush. I know you.”

I shake my head, wanting him to believe me. “I’m conflicted,” I say, throwing out the first word I can think of. “Upset. It was a real shock, and I’ve felt terrible ever since.” Fuck, can I list any more emotions?

“I know. And I hate that I did that to you. If I could go back, I would have ended things with him as soon as I fell for you.”

“Okay …”

“Please take me back.”

I glance up in surprise, not having expected him to come right out and ask. He’s always been guarded and careful about what he says, but I guess when you’re not hiding a relationship, you don’t have anything to be careful about anymore.

“I need you, baby.” He holds out his hand again, and I drive my thumbnail into my palm. I have to take it. I have to.

I can’t.

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