Page 19 of Sins and Secrets

I spare a quick glance at him. His brows are in a tight V formation. He’s biting his lower lip, but not in a sexy way, in a way he does when he’s anxious. He starts shaking his head vigorously. “Not true.” He’s pissed and confused. What the hell should he be confused about? His actions are what got us here. “I left my portfolio.” There’s a pleading ache to his voice, and I’m not falling for that shit.

“I literally have the receipt.” I reach past him and grab my purse off his desk. He blinks slowly, his brain is buffering. I've gone through three wallets since Lukas left, each time moving the receipt to a different hiding spot. The paper’s fragile now, and the ink faded, but I don’t need those details to remember how it makes me feel.

I thrust the paper at him. He doesn’t look at it, reaching for his laptop instead. I flick the paper around, and he ignores me. “Hold on,” he snaps, and taps away until he finally hands me the computer. He’s actually pretty gentle with it. I am not nearly as gentle snatching it from his hand.

Lukas brings the receipt to his face and squints his eyes. Anger is replaced by confusion.

The computer feels cold and heavy, the screen is a bunch of thumbnails of jpegs. Tapping on one, a watercolor of a beach pops up. No, it’s Angie’s beach house we all used to go to over the summer. Lukas and I would sneak out to get snow cones and walk on the beach and hold hands while watching families pack up for the day. The next picture is a charcoal picture of me, laughing. He even captured the happiness in my eyes. My chest tightens and my vision gets blurry.

No. This can’t be right.

Then, something I recognize instantly comes up on the screen. It’s my tattoo, the hydrangea from my grandmother’s garden. This one’s a little less refined than what’s on my back. He drew this six years ago and remembered it when he gave me suggestions for tattoos.

“These are beautiful,” I whisper. The care and detail, the precision and passion. It’s a visual embodiment of his personality, but the subject of the art connects to me. A location, a joke we made, I was in every picture.

But where was it? Where did he put his heartfelt confessions? It wasn’t on the desk. How could I miss it? Still, he admitted his feelings, and I never called him back. He didn’t know I never got the message.

I can’t be close to him right now. The hostility in the room vanishes. Both of us are woundedanimals, hiding away in our corners.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers back as he lifts the receipt. “Why would you keep it?”

Why did I hang onto it? For the first year, I searched for clues. Like maybe the numbers had a hidden meaning or the store’s address or something. I went on wild goose chases and down rabbit holes, always coming to the same conclusion—it meant nothing. I had been wrong about everything. Why would I hold onto it? Turn a mistake into something beautiful. Just because he didn’t feel anything, didn’t mean my feelings were wrong. I loved him, and maybe he didn’t love me because he couldn’t.

“It was all I had left of you.”

He puts his hands on his head and hunches over. “I spent years thinking I wasn’t good enough. I was all in my head.”

“Me too,” I confess.

“I don’t understand what happened. Where’s my journal?’

“I don’t know.” I scroll through the pictures. “But if I had gotten this, I would’ve returned your calls.”

“Don’t.” His voice carries the typical harshness, followed by a quieter admission. “I don’t want to think about what could’ve been.” He clears his throat. “Let’s focus on right now.” He pushes back his hair. “How can I help you now?”

“I’ve gone too long without a hug.”

And instantly, he moves his chair next to mine and his arms wrap around me. I forgot how good he smells. My head rests in the center of his chest. He’s taller than me, stronger, and his hug feels like protective armor and a fuzzy blanket all at once. I listen to his heartbeat, pounding like the bass at a club, as he rocks me back and forth.

My face feels stiff from the dried tears and my eyes still burn, however the moment is as perfect as it can be.

The alarm on his phone chimes. “I should get going, but I can stay if you need me.”

I shake my head. “No. I think I’m good.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says in a hushed tone. “Can you call Angie?”

“She’s in India.”

“Oh, right. Can you call anyone?”

My brain buffers. “Yeah.”

He presses his lips to my forehead, comforting without being sexual. “I’ll have Jade drive you back to your car and then you can go find your friends. Text me when you’re ready and we can talk.”

I feel like ten thousand weighted blankets have been taken off of me at once. No more Adam, no more resentment or confusion. Maybe things are finally getting better.

ChapterTen

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