Page 63 of Pulled Away

“Hadley. Just leave.”

“I got in this morning. I don’t have anywhere to stay. Is it still okay if I sleep in the apartment?”

I gape at her. Literally gape. I’m sure if I was staring at myself in a mirror, I’d see my mouth hanging open. “Fuck no. I don’t ever want to see you again. Tell me you get that?”

“Where am I supposed to go?”

“Anywhere that’s not here.” Grinding my jaw, I turn my back to her and walk to the door, holding it open.

“Ryan, please,” she begs, a tear rolling down her cheek, but I’m unmoved. She’s trying to manipulate me again, but now it’s so obvious I can’t believe I ever fell for it. Did I ever really know her? War and hurt rage in my heart as I silently watch her leave. Deception is a bitter pill to swallow.

There’s a knock on my door not long after Hadley left. I made sure to lock it. It’s not something I’ve ever done, due to crime in our little town being almost nonexistent, but it felt good. I decided I was always going to keep it locked. Can’t have her pitching up unannounced and walking in like she owns this place. I’ve been so engrossed in my pity party for one that I didn’t hear a car pull up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s back. Why can’t she get the message?

Unlocking the door, I yank it open, ready to give Hadley hell, but freeze when I see it’s Aspen. My heart catapults straight out of my chest and gets lodged somewhere in my throat, strangling my ability to speak. But my eyes do all my talking for me. They’re greedy as they roam her body, drinking her in. Acting like I’ve been put on a diet against my will, and I’m finally allowed to eat whatever I want at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Come in,” I breathe, stepping aside and holding the door open. Fuck, now I’m regretting locking it. What if she thinks I did that to keep her out? Damn, my emotions are all over the place today.

My heart drops when she gives a vigorous shake of her head, and what my eyes missed sinks in. Rigid body, stiff shoulders, and holy fuck, fury like I’ve never seen on her face, burning in her eyes.

“What?” I ask carefully, wondering what the hell I did to enrage her this much. But I can’t think of anything. Unless Hadley… Immediately, my confusion turns to anger. For her. Concern. For her.

“I’ve just come from the rescue,” she grinds out, making my anger turn back to confusion.

“Please come in, Aspen. We can talk about it inside.” Where you belong.

“No,” she spits. “What I have to say will be real quick. First, it was my work, and now the rescue. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, and I can’t stop you from going to my work, but the rescue is mine. Stay away from it. We’re done. We’re over. What about that is so hard to understand?”

“I was just trying—” I try to defend myself, but stop when she practically shoves her palm in my face.

“I don’t care what you were trying to do. The rescue is mine. My happy place. A place I can go to, to forget about all the other shit in my life. The last thing I want is to be reminded of you when I’m there. I don’t want to look at a wall and think, ‘Oh, Ryan painted that. Remember Ryan? The guy that screwed you over?’ When I’m there, I want to forget about you.”

Meaning that I’m the shit in her life she wants to forget. My shoulders slump, and I swallow heavily, trying to think of something I can say to make this better. But she doesn’t give me a chance.

“Am I getting through to you at all?” she demands, and I can only nod. “Good. Then, stay away.”

“Mom,” I call, slamming the door behind me.

“In the kitchen. And don’t slam the door!” she yells, making me smile despite the yawning pit where my heart used to be. I must have heard those words a thousand times growing up.

“This is a surprise,” she says, giving me a peck on my cheek. “Is Aspen with you?”

It takes all I have to keep my face neutral, but somehow I manage it, shaking my head. Frowning, she murmurs, “I haven’t seen her since the funeral. There was so much to do that I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. I should give her a call.”

No, you shouldn’t. Seeing that she wants to forget about the shit in her life. Fuck, this conversation is going to be hard. Mom and Dad love Aspen, and despite not being asked, they gave their approval anyway.

“We’ve already had dinner, but there are leftovers. Sit. I’ll make you a plate.”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” I mutter, slumping down on a bar stool. Just the thought of food makes me ill.

“Since when aren’t you hungry?”

Since I got my heart broken. I don’t say that though, shrugging instead.

“Okay. What’s wrong? You never turn down food.” Coming around the counter, she presses the back of her hand against my forehead, eying me with concern.

I shrug again, words stuck in my throat. How do you tell your mom that she raised an idiot?

“You’re not running a fever. Are you feeling okay?”

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