Page 3 of Piercing Eyes

I want to know more about her, not what she thinks about the files I sent over. But she’s already launching into meeting preparations, and she’s thorough. We’re still discussing it when they call our boarding group.

With our first class tickets, we’re among the first to board. As we’re getting settled in our seats on the plane, I take the opportunity to bring our conversation back to a more personal topic. “What kind of other traveling have you done?”

“Oh, nothing too exciting.” She continues arranging her things under the seat in front of her. “I wouldn’t consider myself a world traveler or anything.”

“What’s been your favorite trip?”

She thinks for a second. “When I was a kid, my family went to Glacier National Park. It was so pretty—it felt like we were on a different planet. I have a lot of fond memories of the time we spend camping there.”

“That’s sweet,” I say, smiling. “You said you grew up in San Francisco. Is your family still in the area?”

“Yeah, they are.”

“How many siblings?”

Something flickers across her face. I can’t read it, but it makes me pause. “Should I not ask about them?”

“No, it’s just...” She twists her hands in her lap. “Um, okay, this is kind of awkward, but…we actually went to the same elementary school, Aiden.”

“What?” I must have heard her wrong.

She bites her lip. “Mrs. Watson? Third grade?”

I stare at her. There’s no way. No fucking way we were in the same class.

Her cheeks flush pink. “You used to steal my desserts at lunch. And one time you convinced everyone I had a contagious disease, so no one would play with me at recess for a week.”

The memory crashes into me. Suddenly I can see it clear as day—little Rory with her dark braids, sitting alone at lunch. Me and my friends laughing, watching her shoulders hunch as she tried not to cry. Jesus Christ. More memories surface, one after another, each worse than the last. I was such an asshole to her.

“Fuck.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “I can’t believe this. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. And God, I’m so sorry for what I did when we were kids. That’s?—”

“In the past,” she says firmly, cutting me off. “We don’t need to talk about it. I didn’t even want to bring it up.”

Her words don’t do anything to lessen my guilt. “I feel like such an idiot, Rory. On multiple levels.”

“Don’t. It’s fine.”

How can she say it’s fine? How can she drop a bomb like that on me and expect me to act like it’s no big deal?

“In fact,” she says, smoothing the fabric of her skirt, “I’d prefer it if we considered this a fresh start and didn’t bring it up again.”

Does she really mean that? I watch the way she won’t quite look at me, trying to read what’s really going on in her head. But it’s impossible to tell.

“You sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure.”

Problem is, now that I’ve remembered, I can’t stop thinking about the past. Every memory hits like a fresh wound—Rory sitting alone at lunch, the cruel jokes, the way her shoulders would hunch when we laughed at her. The memories follow me through the whole flight to New York, torturing me as we check into the hotel and head to Manhattan for the publisher meeting.

I manage to keep it professional during the meeting, but my mind keeps circling back to one thought: how is Rory sitting here next to me, being so damn composed about all of this? She should hate me. Instead, she’s taking notes and asking intelligent questions about marketing strategies for my next book series.

We’re walking out of the publisher’s building when I can’t take it anymore. I need to talk to her about this, not just brush it off like she wants to. I’m about to suggest we grab coffee—or maybe something stronger—when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.

“Aiden? Holy shit, it is you!”

A hand claps my shoulder as Jackson King appears, grinning like we’re still rookies sharing a dugout. “What’re you doing in New York, man?”

His timing is terrible, but I can’t help returning his smile. Jackson and I go way back—he was there for some of my best seasons with the Stallions before we both retired. “Jackson, hey.” I pull him into a quick hug. “Just wrapped a meeting with my publisher.”

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