Page 57 of The History Between Us

“Doyouthink it’s wrong?” he asks, flipping it on me. “And not what you think should be considered societally wrong, but in your heart of hearts, do you think the way you feel about Colt is wrong?”

The question makes me pause, mostly because I’ve neverasked myself from that angle. “No,” I reply, and realize with absolute certainty that it’s the truth.

“Then fuck what anybody else has to say,” he grunts. “There will always be people who have an opinion on what you do, but they don’t matter. You know how many people had something negative to say when Whit and I got together? Yeah, our age difference isn’t as large as the one between you and Colt, but Whit wasn’t even nineteen yet when we got together, and he had worked on my family’s ranch since he was fifteen. A lot of people had a lot of shit to say, but in the end, none of it mattered. I knew in my heart what I felt for him, and I knew it was true and pure, and I knew there was nothing wrong with that. So fuck everybody else.”

If the roles were reversed, and Conrad was coming to me for advice, I’d tell him the same damn thing. So, why is it so hard to take our own advice?

“Max deserves to know, though,” Conrad goes on. “If you decide to make things right with Colt and move forward, he deserves to know. You’re one of his closest friends, and if he finds out from anybody other than you, he’ll be pissed. But more than that, he’ll be hurt.” A pang hits me right in the center of my chest at that last part. “That being said, maybe take a little time to make sure this is what you want before you let the cat out of the bag because, while I think Max will eventually get over it, I do think it’ll cause a rift and take some getting used to. You should be sure of your decision before you go there. And maybe apologize to Colt for being a dick.”

I can’t help but chuckle.

“You’re not going to tell me how selfish or idiotic I’m being?” I ask.

His brow quirks. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I just assumed it was coming.”

“Didn’t you hear me when I said I was thirty-three when I fell in love with an eighteen-year-old Whit. Who the hell am I to judge your romantic choices?”

Huffing out a laugh, I say, “Well, when you put it like that.”

“You’re a responsible, good man, Will,” Conrad murmurs. “I know you wouldn’t do anything maliciously or without thinking it through. Besides, take it from me, you don’t get a say in who the heart wants.”

A moment passes before either of us says anything, and I can’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe you thought I was talking about Whit.”

Conrad shakes his head, chest rumbling with a chuckle. “Well, you were practically sweating while trying to spit it out. What was I supposed to think?”

By the time I leave Conrad’s, I know I need to talk to Colt. I need to apologize, but I also need to come clean about how I feel. About how this isn’t just about sex for me anymore.

Hell, maybe it never was.

27

Colt Bishop

The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing a sneak peek of the salt and pepper smattering of hair I know is underneath it all. Just a little bit, though. Atease. Left hand shoved into the pocket of his Chinos, his right is holding a rocks glass filled with just about three fingers of my father’s favorite whiskey.

Clenching my jaw, I bring the glass up to my lips, letting the amber liquid flood my mouth. It’s smooth as it heats a path down my throat, my gaze locked on the man across the room who I haven’t been able to take my eyes off since he walked through the front door fifteen minutes ago. He looks casual tonight. Relaxed. A smile stretches his cheeks as he chuckles at whatever my father is telling him, but every once in a while I’ll catch his eyes flitting in my direction. Only for a split second, though.

It's been a couple of weeks since I stormed out of his house, and we haven’t spoken since. I want to say I’m dealing with it, and that it’s not driving me nuts, but that would be a lie. William is on my mind all the fucking time, and it’s irritating.He won’t leave. And what’s even more annoying is the fact that I’m probably not even on his mind at all. William’s probably living his life like nothing ever happened, if that carefree grin on his face as he chats it up with my father is any indication.

It wassofucking easy for him to put a stop to this, like it meant nothing to him. He was constantly trying to fight against it; I should’ve known. What a fucking idiot I was for chasing him like some pathetic puppy. Maybe he was right, after all. Maybe I am too young. Maybe we have nothing in common. And besides that, my job takes me away for a chunk of the year—assuming I’ll make it onto the circuit again—so maybe we never would’ve worked.

Maybe I was fooling myself.

But then a larger part of me says maybe I wasn’t. Maybe we could’ve been good together if William was able to get over his own shit. Not that I’ll ever know now.

Scoffing to myself, I rip my eyes away from him and head into the kitchen, where my mother is slicing potatoes. She informed me earlier this week that she’d like to start having weekly family dinners on Sundays now that I’m back in my own place again. I love the idea because one, I could eat my mom’s cooking all day, every day and never get sick of it, and two, I knew they’d invite William, and call me a glutton for punishment, but I wanted to be around him. See if being near me affected him. See if maybe I could fuck with him a little.

But now that I’m here, and it seems like he’s doing just fucking fine, I’m regretting my entire plan. I should’ve just stayed home. Or better yet, gone over to Shooter’s house and got drunk watching football.

“Hi, honey,” my mom says softly.

“Need any help?” Reaching over her, I grab a small glob ofshredded cheddar cheese, tossing it in my mouth. She’s making scalloped potatoes, my favorite.

“I think I got it, but thank you.” Brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, she smiles up at me. “Could you maybe just check on the ham for me?”

“Sure.”

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