Page 78 of Face Off
Boyce: Come on, Hayl. Don’t be like that. I think we can sit down and have a civilized conversation without lawyers.
He can’t be serious.
Boyce: Please, Hayl. Just an hour of your time. That’s all I need and if you don’t like what I have to say, then we’ll let the lawyers handle it.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. I should just let the lawyers handle it. Wait until August when we have our day incourt. Yet, part of me wants to hear what he has to say. Whether it’s for Camden’s good or not.
Hayley: What time and where?
Boyce: Our bistro. Can you meet in 30?
I type out my response before tossing the phone next to me on the bed. I fall back, staring up at the ceiling as if it holds all the answers for me, yet nothing is there. Again, I’m left with nothing but what ifs. Swallowing down the large lump in my throat, I make my way to the walk-in closet, dressing in my work clothes.
“Camden,” I call out as I make my way to the condo front door to slip on my Timberland boots. “I’ll have George downstairs call Gram to have her pick you and Bash up for the game. Don’t leave this apartment until George calls up here to let you know Gram’s here. I have to run an errand before the game.”
“Okay,” he says, oblivious to how flustered I currently am.
I make my way to my car, climbing into the driver’s seat and cranking the ignition. My heart races as I type out a quick text to Brooks, letting him know I’ll meet him at the arena. Throwing my car quickly in reverse, I back out of the spot, anxious for what’s ahead.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m seated in a booth toward the back of The Osprey Bistro. It’s been ten years since I’ve stepped foot in this place. The place that we considered ours. It was the one place that Boyce and I came to escape our families, our responsibilities and just be us. It was a plus that it was on the other side of town, so it made it that much more exclusive to us and only us.
However, after Boyce broke things off with me, I haven’t been able to come within five miles of this place. And there’s a reason for that. As I sit here waiting for Boyce to arrive, I wring my hands back and forth in an uncomfortable silence, plagued by all the memories we once shared here.
The plans we made.
The kisses we shared.
The I love yous.
They all come rushing back to me like a tsunami crashing into the shore, pulling me slowly back out to sea as another wave builds. The undertow pulling me under, refusing to let up. It’s why I haven’t been here. It hurts to be here. To know that everything we shared sitting in these seats was all a lie. That it never meant anything. Yet here I sit. Waiting for my own personal executioner.
“Hayley.” Boyce’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t turn around to acknowledge him. Or to know that he’s sporting his signature smirk, showcasing a dimple to die for. The same smirk that had me willing to believe anything that came out of his mouth.
He takes his spot opposite me in the booth, placing his phone face down on the table before crossing him arms and leaning on the table. “Boyce,” I murmur. My tone is filled with uncertainty and warning. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
He leans back into the booth seat, leaving one arm resting on the table as his gaze rakes over my face before making its slow, uncomfortable perusal of my body. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as a deafening silence fills the uncrowded bistro.
“You look good.”
“Cut the shit, Boyce. What do you want?” I snap, not allowing him to distract me or change the reason why we’re here.
“Never were one to make small talk,” he says as the waitress comes over to take our drink order. Sensing that it isn’t the right time, she scurries away to make the drinks. “Look, I know I fucked up.”
“You’re right. You fucked up. Now if that’s all you brought me here to say, then I’m leaving,” I say as I stand from my seat, Boyce darts his hand out, grabbing my wrist to stop me.
“Sit, Hayley. We’re not done,” he says in a tone I can’t quite put my finger on.
Is it remorse? I can’t quite tell, but it has my attention. Curious as to what he wants to say.
Slowly, I slide back into the booth, pulling my arm free from his grasp before crossing them over my chest. “You have ten minutes, so say what you have to say.”
He lets out a low chuckle as his lips curl up on one side, once again showcasing that fucking dimple. It’s like kryptonite. “I fucked up.”
“You already said that.”
“Would you stop fucking interrupting me and let me fucking talk?” he spits as he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. Hair that once upon a time I wouldn’t mind pulling and tugging. “I made mistakes in my life. That’s for sure, and I know I can’t go back in time and change anything, but I can change how things go now. I can be the man you need me to be. The father Camden needs.”
“What are you saying, Boyce?”
