Page 92 of A Very Merry Enemy
I sip more bourbon.
“Do you ever think about us and what might’ve been?”
“Every fucking day.” He glances at the fire, and I see years of hurt in his eyes. Guilt nearly swallows me whole. “You were the ghost who haunted the hallways of my heart. You were the reason I couldn’t commit to anyone.”
He looks back at me. “I’d think about your laugh when I told terrible jokes. The way you’d steal my hoodies and how they’d smell like you for days. But I mostly missed when you looked at me like I was the only person who mattered in your world. You made me believe love existed, but you also made me hate it.”
His jaw clenches.
“You have every right to be angry with me,” I whisper, drinking more bourbon.
“I’m not angry with you, Holiday. I just can’t lose myself again. You make me weak. You make me believe things that you never believed were possible.”
My brows furrow. “Like what?”
“Uh-uh. Not your turn,” he says. Seconds turn into minutes. “Did you ever think about me, us, and what could’ve been?”
I nod. “All the time. Usually around the holidays, when people were decorating trees. But there were other times, too. Like when I’d hear a song on the radio that reminded me of our summer together. And…”
My body burns, and I tuck my lips into my mouth.
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Tell me.”
I put the bottle to my lips and drink until bubbles appear. “Anytime I touched myself.”
A cocky smirk plays on those perfect lips, and his gaze narrows. “Mm. Bad fucking girl.”
“You were the best I ever had.”
“Wow,” he says, taking the bottle from me. Our fingersbrush, and goose bumps trail over my arm. “Truthfully, you’ll probably be the best I’ll ever have, too. I can count on my hands how many times Dominic made me, you know, the seven years we were together.”
His eyes darken. “Sad.”
“Tell me about it. Maybe it was always supposed to be you. I don’t know.” My face burns.
He reaches out to cup my face. “Fuck. Your turn,” he says after a moment, his thumb stroking my cheekbone.
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me for hurting you?”
“I’ve forgiven you, I just haven’t forgotten. I thought what we had was enough, and it wasn’t. So, forgive me if I’m cautious. I don’t think you know what you want in life, and I cannot be your rebound, Holiday. You taught me that a man should never try to build a house on unstable ground unless he wants it to collapse. I can’t do that again.”
The truth makes my tears prickle my eyes.
“That’s fair,” I whisper. “I’m a mess.”
“Give yourself credit. You just stood up to a bully, and it takes time to heal. You can’t rush that.” His voice is fierce. “Are you leaving again?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “No one will hire me because of Dominic. If an opportunity arose, depending on where it is, I’d consider it. I feel like I have so much to offer in my career. But then I ask myself if I’m going to spend my entire life working for someone else. I dreamed of having my own bakery. Calling all the shots. Shipping cookies around the world. I don’t know if that will ever happen now. I could never open a cookie shop in Merryville to compete with Emma. I have no options.”
Lucas glances down at his phone, and I see we have fifteen minutes of asking questions left.
“Do you still want me?” I ask, ripping the Band-Aid off so hard ittakes skin.
“I want you to be happy,” he says.
“That wasn’t my question. No dodgeball.”
He stares at me for a long time. The flames dance across our bodies as the wood crackles and pops.
