Page 18 of Scr*wed By the Minotaur in Hallow's Cove
Because I wanted her to figure me out. I wanted to let her in.
And now she thought I didn’t give a damn.
I slammed back the rest of the drink and scrubbed a hand down my face. My pride was bleeding out all over the bar, but it wasn’t just pride. It was fear. It was longing. It was the bitter, aching realization that I might have just met the only person I’ve ever really wanted something real with—and lost her before I even had a chance to try.
I left the bar by midnight, the old wound throbbing somewhere behind my sternum. The world felt too tight, the air too sharp. I didn’t want to go home, so I let my feet carry me in slow, angry circles around Main Street. By the time I passed her window, the new shop was dark but not empty. I could see the faintest glow through the second-story glass, a silhouette moving behind the curtain. Lea, probably unpacking boxes or crying or both. My stupid heart did a little stutter-step at the idea.
I wanted her. There was no denying it. But I was also so fucking pissed—at her for lying, for the mess she’d made. I wanted to yell at her for it as much as I wanted to hold her again.
So I went to her.
I didn’t think. Just turned on my heel and marched up the steps to her place, feeling the anger and heartache and fuck-it-all coil tight in my gut. The door to the shop was unlocked, boxes stacked high in the gloom. I took the stairs two at a time, every step vibrating the frame of the old building. At the top, I stopped. Raised my fist to knock. Lost my nerve, then knocked anyway—harder than I meant, loud enough to startle a banshee.
The door swung open, and there she was.
Lea stood in the half-light, curls natural, cheeks flushed, wearing a threadbare T-shirt and leggings. She looked so much herself it almost broke me. She was caught off guard, mascara faintly smeared from earlier, hands braced on the door.
“Rick,” she said, voice low. “What the hell is going on?”
I stared at her. I didn’t know if I wanted to yell or apologize, or collapse in her arms and let her fix every broken thing in me. For a second, I just stood there, breathing hard, the haze of Harley’s cheap whiskey mixing with the hot mess of everything I’d been trying to tamp down for days. “I need to talk to you,” I said, and even to my own ears it sounded raw.
She looked me up and down, eyes raking over my face and catching on the half-buttoned shirt, the smell of bar, the nervous tremor in my voice. She waited, arms crossed over her chest, daring me to do something—anything—besides stand there and glare.
I stepped inside. I half expected her to slam the door in my face, but she let it hang open, like she wanted an escape route, just in case. Maybe she did.
She beat me to the punch, her voice clipped. “If you’re here to rub in that you’ve already moved on, don’t bother. Message received, loud and clear.” She folded her arms tighter, like she was keeping the rest of herself from leaking out.
The anger in me flared—instant, white-hot, and sharper than I meant. “You lied to me,” I shot back. “Don’t play hurt like I’m the asshole here. I thought you were leaving. I gave you exactly what you asked for.” My hands went to my hips.
Lea’s eyes flashed, wounded and fierce all at once. “I never lied to you.” She huffed, like she’d been holding that in all day. “And anyway, what was I supposed to do? Announce that I might actually want something real with you, after you made it very clear that you only do flings?” She held my gaze, and I couldsee her jaw tremble, even as her voice got stronger. “Would that have made it easier?”
“Yes!” I bellowed, and the echo came back at me off bare wood and drywall, rattling down the hallway. “You didn’t think to maybe mention you bought the building next to mine?”
She laughed. “You think I came into this town with some master plan to trap you?”
“No—I don’t know!” I shouted before I could stop myself. I realized I was pacing like a bull in a corral. I was standing right in front of her, so close I could see the flecks of green in her brown eyes.
For a second, neither of us moved. The air between us was electric—anger and longing and something else, something thicker, roping us together even as we both tried to break free.
She just shook her head, the movement small and precise. “You’re not even sober,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Come back when you are. Try using your words then, instead of just shouting.”
That stopped me. For a second, I wanted to slam something—put my hand through drywall, smash the old light fixture over her head. Instead, I just stared at her, my jaw clenched so tight I could taste blood in the back of my mouth.
“I’m not drunk,” I spat, but it was a lie. The whiskey haze made everything feel sharp and unfocused all at once.
“Don’t come here if you’re going to talk like that,” she said, voice growing firmer. “If you want to yell at me, do it sober.”
I blinked, head swimming. “I thought—”
“I don’t care what you thought,” she cut in. Her voice cracked, but her stance didn’t waver. “I’m not going to discuss anything while you’re this drunk. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.”
Her apartment door clicked softly behind me, but its sound reverberated through my skull like a gunshot. I staggered up to the apartment, the stairs a crueler enemy than anythingLea could conjure. The night blurred in streaks of whiskey and regret, and by the time I collapsed onto the bed, I couldn’t tell which was burning more.
Chapter nine
Rick
Thesunwasfartoo bright when I woke up. It pierced through the curtains, slicing into my eyes and drilling straight through to the back of my head. For a moment, I thought I was back in Lea’s bed at the inn. But the bed was empty, and the sheets were tangled around my legs. I lay there, groaning, wishing I could rewind everything to the moment before I’d fucked it all up—somehow knowing even with a fresh start I’d screw it all up again.
