Page 150 of Crazy for this Girl

“Like when you flew to California to find me?” My whole body tenses at the one thing I really didn’t want him to soak to memory from all the other crap Mom spewed today.

It was a mistake.

I shouldn’t have done it.

It made everything worse.

“When did you come to see me?”

Three-ish years ago, maybe four.

I push my lips out as though I’m thinking about it. As if it really didn’t matter, and as if my world crashing and burning all over again didn’t happen. “I don’t remember. A long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me?” he solicits tersely, his greens burning with displeasure and distress that I was anywhere near him. Both emotions leave behind charred remnants of the promises we made, the plans we talked about, and the feelings that never developed into anything other than just hope and a night at a shitty hotel.

He cared for me, said he loved me even, however, it still killed me every day that I couldn’t reach out to him and receive a response within a twenty-four-hour span. My crush wouldn’t release me to ever stop hoping that one day we’d sink back into what we were. To forget every painstaking thing that happened in my life when I needed him.

“Laynee.” My name off his lips readjusts him being my focal point again. With one step, he’s right in front of me, before leaning over and menacingly placing both of his palms on either side of the armrests of my chair. “Why didn’t you come for me?”

Oh, shit.

I can’t do this.

“I-I did.”

“When?” His eyes bore daggers of piqued rage that I’m not just blabbing out the story like Veronica does with anything that goes on in her life. Like my mother who loves to spill everyone’s failures to make it look as though she tried to help, but her kids are just assholes that don’t listen to her.

Well, I’ve always been the asshole. Jonah was always the golden child of zero sins and tons of smarts.

I push myself as subtly as I can against the back of my leather chair, but I still smell the woodsy scent coming off his body and the impatience radiating off his suit. “Like I said, a few years ago. I didn’t write the date and time on a piece of paper so I could reflect back on it. I…I couldn’t find you.”

His brows suddenly clash together as if I’m stupid. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

Oh, hell no.

“How do you know?” I snap back, balling the fabric of my dress in my fist. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I would’ve found you, Laynee.” His eyes bore so much animosity at me that at first, I can’t breathe. “I can’t fucking believe you did that.”

“Did what?”

I want him to say it.

I want him to tell me that he’s pissed at me for something I couldn’t control.

It’s not like he left a smoke signal or coordinates to his location. I practically stalked his childhood address.

“You fucking left.”

“Wait a second...you’re mad at me for not being able to find you?” I point a finger at him. “You shouldn’t have disappeared in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t have left California until I did. Until you were in front of me, clear as motherfucking day, Laynee.”

“I went to your house, Cal, and saw your dad. Didn’t he tell you? He said you didn’t live there anymore.” Something transforms on his face, and it doesn’t take a brain scientist to know that his dad didn’t tell him anything.

Not that it mattered.

Cal always knew how to get to me. I never changed my number.

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