Page 15 of New Hope, Old Grudges

Brody stayed in place, not moving his eyes off me.

He didn’t go. Nor did he speak for a long time. At least a minute. Which was a long time to stare at someone without speaking. His gaze was electrifying and unyielding, and I refused to break it, even though I really wanted to.

“Can you at least remind me of what it is I did to you?” There was a plea in his voice. A healthy dose of shame. Regret.

But that wasn’t enough to save him.

I blinked in shock. Holycrap.He still didn’t remember. That one interaction cemented my hatred for New Hope, took years of therapy to heal from and still haunted my dreams, yet it wasn’t even worthrememberingto him.

I saw red. “Remind you?” I repeated. “How nice that you have the luxury of forgetting interactions with girls who should’ve known better than to show Brody Adams kindness.”

He looked genuinely remorseful. In fact, he looked a little like that boy whose hand I’d grasped all those years ago. “It’s not personal,” he muttered finally. “My life back then wasn’t at all how it looked. You said you never wanted to come back here. Well, neither did I. But after I went through basic training, was deployed, saw shit and did shit that I don’t care to remember, I figured that a small town in the mountains was a place I could find peace. And in order for me to find that peace, I had to forget a lot of the shit I had to wade out of when I was an asshole teenager.”

I was momentarily stunned. I hadn’t expected him to be so frank, so vulnerable, especially not in front of a collection of very phallic fertility statues. I expected arrogance. Was prepared for that.

But I rallied. “I’m glad you’ve found your peace,” I replied, not knowing if I was being sarcastic or not. “But I haven’t. Not with you standing in front of me. Not with you near me. So if you’ll kindly leave me alone and let me figure out my dumpster fire of a life in peace, I’d sure appreciate it.”

He regarded me with regret but also with a tinge of that fiery hunger from Friday night. I did my best to resist it. I had always gone for the manicured men in L.A. The softer ones who didn’t have callused hands, had never held an axe in their lives and contracted out any and all work around the house. I didn’t think I was into the rugged mountain man.

Especially one in uniform.

Especially one I hated.

But it turned out I was.

Not that I’d be a slave to my baser instincts.

“You can’t hate me forever,” he said finally.

I scrutinized him, surprised at his words and glad he’d spoken them, reminding me he was the same entitled asshole he’d always been. “I can do whatever the fuck I want. That’s my prerogative as a grown-ass woman with agency and rights, so I’ll go on hating you until, I don’t know, the end of time.”

His nostrils flared, and I noted his fists clenched at his sides. “I said I was sorry.”

I threw my hands up. “Oh, he said he was sorry.” I looked upward as if I were speaking to the sky. “Well, that changes everything.” My narrowed eyes went back to him. “Let’s braid each other’s hair now and talk about our hopes and dreams.”

“Jesus, Will, I—”

“Don’t call me Will,” I snapped. “Only my old friends call me that, and if you’re anything, you’re an old enemy. I expect my enemies to address me by my full name, orMs. Watsonif you’d prefer. Which I personally would.”

He scrubbed his hand across his jaw in frustration. The gesture was not hot. Not at all.

“I don’t want to be fucking enemies, Ms.Watson,” he seethed, stepping forward, right into my personal bubble.

I did not step back. Though I most definitely should’ve. I didn’t like people in my personal bubble. I was not an affectionate person. Which had upset my small number of romantic partners to no end.

I didn’t like people standing too close to me in line at the grocery store, airport security, anywhere. Yet there I was, letting Brody Adams get up in my space.

I held my breath as his scent became stronger. More intoxicating. Up closer he towered over me, made me feel small, petite, protected … dominated.

I didn’t like any of those things. I liked being tall, not needing protection, and I certainly didn’t consider myself submissive. Yet I was almost sweating with wet panties.

I swallowed, looking down at his boots.

His hand came to my chin, forcing it upward.

I supposed I could’ve squeezed my eyes shut, but that seemed overly juvenile, and I wanted to prove to myself, and him, that I could maintain eye contact without having a reaction.

My body didn’t help me with this as my cheeks flushed, and my thighs clenched as our eyes met.

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