Page 136 of Bitter Rival

When my breathing returns to normal, I lean against the headrest and mentally berate myself.

I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am now and with just one visit from my mother, I feel like I’m back to being that kid she never really wanted.

If Beckett had at least taken the common courtesy to warn me, to clue me in to his plans, I would have been better prepared.

It would have been my choice whether to see her or to “sit this one out.”

But no, he couldn’t do that, could he? Instead, I was completely blindsided.

Now I feel like a fool for thinking I had to protect Beckett from Astrid when he was the one who tracked her down.

Before the plane takes off, I text Finn to let him know I’m on my way home, turn my phone on airplane mode and stuff it into the front pocket of my backpack.

Then I do a quick inventory to make sure everything is in my bag before stowing it under the seat in front of me.

In my haste to get away, I packed so quickly that I keep thinking I’ve forgotten something.

There’s a nagging feeling in my gut telling me I’ve left something important behind.

Or maybe it’s not something, but someone.

My first crush. My first love. The first boy who ever broke my heart when he carelessly tossed my drawings into the trash.

Getting your heart broken at twenty-five hurts a lot more than it did at eight.

But isn’t it just like me to fall for someone who will never love me back?

I let myself into my apartment just after midnight.

It smells like weed and incense, and after being gone for so long, it doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. And yet, everything looks the same as I left it.

My framed street photography and artwork from emerging artists still hang on the walls. Moroccan rugs skim the worn hardwood floors.

My mismatched furniture—thrift store and flea market finds—are scattered around the open space living area, and the wall of shelves is filled with books and pottery and random keepsakes from my travels.

My gaze narrows on the flames flickering from dozens of candles dotted around the room in candelabras, glass holders, and silver candlesticks.

This feels exactly like when Finn and I were just two stupid teenagers squatting in a rundown building. We’d light candles and sit cross-legged on the floor eating our dinner, and then we’d tumble onto the mattress and hold each other until the flames flickered and died.

Finn knew exactly what he was doing. He knows how to play me. How to evoke strong emotions by reminding me of what we used to be.

Now, he comes to stand before me in a faded concert T-shirt with holes in the neck and ripped jeans.

Longish wavy brown hair, green eyes, full lips.

Just the same as I remember.

“Welcome home, babe.” He pulls me into his arms and holds me close. It feels so familiar that muscle memory kicks in and my arms wrap around his lean body.

Being in his arms used to feel like home. I always thought we fit together so well, but now it feels all wrong.

It doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Sutton Ridge felt like home. Beckett felt like home. Until he burned the castle to the ground and danced on the ashes.

My chest feels tight and my heart aches.

“Missed you,” Finn murmurs, sliding his hands into my hair like they belong there. They don’t. They haven’t for a long time.

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