Page 96 of Pulled Away

I open my mouth but shut it when she glares at me. When she’s confident that I’m not going to speak, she continues.

“I hate that you prioritized her over us, but I guess that falls under feeling that she’s more important than me,” she mutters.

“I hate that you humiliated me. And I never want to see your college friends again.” Her stare is defiant, daring me to argue, but she’ll get none from me. There’s no world in which I’ll subject Aspen to Nicole ever again. I told them to leave that day, knowing I never wanted to see them again.

“I hate that you took away my voice and made me feel helpless.”

My damn mouth won’t stay shut, the vow that I’ll never ever do that again, ready to tumble from my lips, but her glare silences me once again.

“I hate, hate, hate that she was in our hot tub. With you.” Fuck, she’s really picking up steam. “That you allowed it.” Her voice is a hiss, her eyes blazing in anger. My heart thumps, shame, a heavy boulder dragging it down.

“I hate that you’ve spoiled all potential island holidays for us.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that I never even saw the beach, but that’s not the point, so I wisely keep my mouth shut.

“I hate that you kept following me home even after I told you not to.” She bites her lip. “I hate how it made me hate you a little less—despite scaring the shit out of me—when all I wanted to do was hate you.”

I want to give a little fist pump in victory because despite what Dad said, I knew it was the right thing to do. But the last thing I want her to think is that I’m gloating, so I don’t.

“Does that count as one hate or two?” I ask carefully. Cause If it’s two, we’ve hit the ten mark, and this torture is over.

“One,” she says. “But there’s plenty more. I don’t think I’ll be stopping at ten.”

Fuck my life. How did I think this was a good idea?

“I hate the thought of you never touching me again.”

This time, I can’t help myself, words tumbling from my mouth. “You’re as vital as air to me, Aspen. Since the day you left me, I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe. The thought of not having you in my life, not touching you ever again, might as well be a death sentence.”

She sucks in a puff of air, but then gives me a dirty look. “I’m not done. I hate how your socks smell after a hike.”

My mouth falls open in shock. “Ouch, that’s a low blow.”

“Shush,” she admonishes, sounding just like Mom. Her head drops, breaking eye contact. Twisting her fingers, she swallows, her mouth moving soundlessly. She swipes a tear from her cheek and then whispers, “I hate that I never felt good enough for you.”

Hell no. In a flash, I’ve reached across the console, and she’s in my lap, my arms around her.

“What the hell are you talking about? If there’s anyone that’s not good enough, it’s me,” I whisper against the top of her head, my voice raw. “You tick every single box I have, Aspen.”

She sniffles. “I do?” My heart’s been breaking in increments with every “hate” coming from her mouth, but this, this is what completely annihilates it.

“The answer to that is so far beyond yes. I never dared dream I’d find somebody like you, and I’m so fucking sorry I made you feel you’re not enough.”

Never again. It’s a vow I make to myself there and then. A vow I’ll honor to my dying day.

Chapter thirty-four

Aspen

The last few weeks of fall pass in a whirlwind.

Every spare second I have, I spend at the rescue overseeing the work being done. The week after the charity event, Aiden gave me a quote for all the things that were beyond my ability to do.

My eyes lit up because, finally, I could afford to have it done. I didn’t have to scrimp and save anymore. They say money can’t buy you happiness, but in this case, I disagree. I’m in a permanent state of euphoria, seeing the speed at which things are being completed.

Working on it by myself, while satisfying, was extremely slow going. At the pace I was going, it would have taken me years to get it up and running. The way it’s looking now, I’m planning on opening on the first day of summer.

And all because of my friends.

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