Page 31 of Unstable

“I never realized,” I mumble, utterly dumbfounded.

“You didn’t realize a lot of things, Hen. But Hadley did, and we discussed it. I told her, she was beautiful and wonderful, and I’d be lucky to be with her…but I wanted you. And I knew, if I ever, even once, went on a single date with her, I’d never have a chance with you."

“And these last eight years? You expect me to believe you’ve been pining away in celibacy, hoping I’d come back?” I let out a soft laugh, the notion ridiculous.

“Yes and no. I’ve been pining, and hoping you’d come back, but I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man, Darlin’. So yes, I’ve had my share of one-night stands. But nothing beyond that. Just a quick distraction here and there. You see, this lil’ brat sassed me, rolled her eyes, glared at me, argued with me, and insulted me whenever she could for so long, I’ll be damned if it didn’t stick. No one else has ever been able to hold my interest. It always came back to thoughts and memories of you, ruining any hope of moving on. I’d always feel like shit after, wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you were…happy.”

“Well,” I yawn long and loud, stretching my arms over my head, “I wasn’t. And even if I decide to forgive you about Ha—her, I still don’t feel right about all these declarations you’re making, and I certainly can’t give them anymore thought.”

“Why the fuck not?” he growls.

“Because, Keaton! I couldn’t live with the guilt. First of all, I’d have to know it really was okay with her, and,” my voice loses power, “I can’t ask her. And even if by some miracle, I came to terms with it, who’s to say I’d be interested?” I hold back my saucy grin. It never gets old—torturing him.

He taps something else into his phone, then looks at me with mischief dancing in his eyes and a sexy curl to his mouth. “It’s on the list. The first part, not the second,” he laughs. “We both know you’re interested. So, I’ll figure somethin’ out, because that answer? Unacceptable. I’m not backtracking now, Henny Penny. You’re home, you’re staying, and you will, finally, be mine.”

“You wear me out, Keaton,” I sigh and let my shoulders relax. “Absolutely wear me out.”

“Remember that line, just like that, all soft and sleepy. Wanna hear it in my ear while I’m on top of you, real soon.”

“Goodnight, crazy man.” I roll over, facing the back of the couch, ignoring my body’s reaction to his smoky, scandalous words. “Lock the door behind you.”

“Night Darlin’.” I feel his lips on my hair right before I fall asleep.

I WAKE WITH A startle, not from the sunlight, but rather the weirdest yet most realistic dream I’ve ever had. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I sat up talking to my twin sister last night.

It was so vivid; I could smell her, feel her soft touch on my arm, see the love and forgiveness in her eyes. I’d reached out to touch her and felt it, her skin, our connection. And I’d looked…my bottom lip is fuller than hers.

And maybe I’d dreamt this too, but…stranger things have happened, and I'm walking up the stairs to find her diary…because she told me to.

I stop outside our door and practice my breathing exercises, second-guessing myself. Did Mom change it, pack our stuff away, or am I literally about to walk into the exact same bedroom we once shared?

More importantly, if the answer is yes, can I handle it?

Only one way to find out.

I slowly turn the knob and push the door open even slower. My question is answered before I get it all the way open…by the smell. Do old houses hold scents better than others or what?

The unmistakable fragrance of her favorite perfume, came in a little bottle that looked like an apple, creeps its way through the crack in the door and washes over me.

Oh Hadley, I’m so sorry. I miss you every single day.

Nope, I just can’t do it. Probably imagining the whole thing anyway. I slam the door and run back down the stairs, not caring if I fall. Maybe I’ll break my neck and finally get to beg for their forgiveness in person.

That is, if I’m deemed worthy of Heaven.

So to say I’m in a foul mood would be giving the word foul whole new definition. I’m in downright, 100% Queen Bitch, Ruler of all McBitchland, mode.

Rooftops and thunderstorms.

Keaton and his flip-flopping from cocky, bossy bastard to poet, all his hearts and daisy filled proclamations of “plans.” Weird dreams where my sister seemed so real, so tangible…only to chicken out on the instruction I crazily swear she gave me. And the horses, their lack of care…that I fully intend to question Gatlin about as soon as I find him.

Yeah, today already sucks beyond measure.

If I don’t start my period any second, the icing on the cake, I’ll be shocked.

“Morning, Bourbon,” I say as cheerily as possible, filling his food and water bowls. “Do you know where Gatlin is, boy?”

Nothing. Even the dog senses it’s best to avoid me today.

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