Page 33 of Faking it With the Player Next Door

Hunter raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical.

“Then you need to make that clear to Taylor. She went through hell with Travis’ deceit. If she thinks you’re hiding something, even unintentionally, it will reopen all those old wounds.”

Hunter’s words hit me harder than I expected. I hadn’t realized how much the shadow of Ellie might still loom over everything. Right now, I felt like I was heading towards becoming another person who hurt Taylor, which was the last thing I wanted.

I need to fix this. Somehow.

Chapter Thirteen

Taylor

Iwas settling in for a quiet afternoon when a knock at the door shattered my peace. Peering through the peephole, my heart sank. Travis. Again. I thought about pretending I wasn’t home, but knowing Travis, he’d probably camp out on my doorstep all day.

With a deep sigh, I cracked the door.

“What do you want, Travis?”

The look in his eyes made me wary.

“Taylor, please,” he pleaded, his voice a mix of desperation and that infuriating self-assurance I once found charming. “Just give me five minutes.”

I hesitated, then, against my better judgment, I let him in.

He stood in my living room, looking annoyingly good in the way he always did, even when he was being a complete ass. I crossed my arms, creating a barrier between us. “Five minutes, Travis. That’s all you get.”

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I used to find endearing. Now, it just seemed calculated.

“Taylor,” he began, his eyes locked on mine, “I’ve changed. I’ve been through rehab. I’m clean now. The drugs... that’s all behind me.”

I felt a familiar tightness in my chest.

I didn’t even know about the drugs until that fateful night at the office. I wonder how long he had been using it. How many promises had he made and broken?

“That’s great, Travis,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

He stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. It brought back a flood of memories - both good and bad.

“So, what do you say? Us. Again. The drug problem was the deal-breaker, right? Well, it’s gone now.”

As he spoke, something crystallized inside me. The drugs weren’t the only factor. It never had been. It was the lying, the broken promises, the way he always put himself first.

“Travis,” I said softly, “I’m glad you’re doing better. But we’re not getting back together.”

His face fell, then hardened. The charm disappeared, replaced by a cool arrogance I recognized too well. “Do you think the guy next door is serious about you? You are an off-season pastime,” he said with a smirk.

I didn’t want to believe what he said, but his words still stung.

My fists clenched as I snapped, “What does that have to do with us getting back together?”

“Ah, you need time to think about it. I get it. I’ll come back in a few days for your answer.”

Before I could protest, he was gone, leaving me feeling drained and conflicted. The silence in the house was suddenly oppressive. I needed air.

I grabbed my keys and headed into town, finding myself at the local café. As I nursed my latte, lost in thought, a familiar voice cut through my reverie.

“Taylor? Taylor Miller, is that you?”

I saw Amelia Horton, my former high school best friend, smiling warmly at me. Her expression was just as genuine and welcoming as I remembered our school days.

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