Page 203 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
“I get that.”
Of course he does. It’s in his blood, just as it is in mine.
The sky’s already starting to shift. The inky black of night is giving way to muted shades of purple and orange along the horizon.
He sits beside me without asking. His jeans graze the grass as he bends his legs and rests his arms on his knees. He removes his Stetson, running a hand through his hair before letting his arm drape over his knee, resting his hat against his leg.
“Can we talk?”
My eyes close in a low sigh.
Why now? What is this pull between us? This pull I can’t escape, that neither of us seems to be able to escape.
When I open my eyes, the first sliver of sun peeks over the horizon.
“You know, I really thought I was over you.”
It feels good to get it out, even if it bites me in the ass down the road. It can’t be worse than what everybody’s already saying or last night’s display of grinding up against him in a public place.
“At the time, I mean, it hurt when you dipped. Not a word. Not an explanation. Just rumors I was another win on your scoreboard.”
“That’s not what you were.”
“It’s hard to argue that when everyone is saying it, and the main source was you.”
He curses.
“Yeah, well, I got older and I grew to love me, all the parts of me I questioned after you checked out.” I still don’t look at him—can’t. “And I’m pretty fucking amazing.” I pause, but I don’t expect anything from him.
This isn’t for him. It’s for me, my closure.
“I thought that in the process of finding myself, I would out-love you. Then that stupid song came on last night, and you were waiting for me with that look in your eyes. And then you touched me, and I swear, I was that naive girl who thought you cared.”
“I did care. I do care.”
I’m not prepared for him to say the words even if I suspected them. Even if I’m convinced they’re true. No matter how many times I’ve played a version of him caring in my head, to hear him say it, it rocks me.
“You cared until you got into my pants.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it? Because we had sex after your game and you never talked to me again.”
He breathes deep, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning anywhere but me. “It sounds so bad when you say it.”
“It was bad. You broke my eighteen-year-old heart. You tore it to shreds. It wasn’t good, Hart. It was probably the worst thing you could do to a girl you promised your heart to.”
I hate that I still feel it.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jade.” His low voice breaks me, like he can’t even process the words. “I only ever wanted to protect you.”
How many years have passed, and today he searches me with this calm, sweet voice I remember.
The one who did care.
The one that I fell in love with.
“Hell, I didn’t expect to care.” His hand idly taps his hat off his leg. “Back then, when I followed you into the storage room—”
