Page 13 of Indigo

“It was.”

For a moment, it feels as though no time has passed between us as she smiles at me. I hold my breath, and as I knew it would, her expression falls within seconds. She clears her throat and licks her lips before squaring her shoulders as if preparing herself for a fight. “Why are you here, Pax?” she asks, getting right to the point. “You never come to the city. You hate it here, and I haven’t seen or heard from you in years, so I know damn well it can’t be for me.”

I shrug. “I was hungry.”

“Right,” she scoffs, clearly unconvinced. We stare at each other for a moment before she looks back at her car. “I should go.”

I don’t respond. Her adrenaline is probably still pumping, and I don’t want to argue, so if she wants to run, she can. I have her address memorised, and if she leaves this parking lot right now, that’s my next stop.

She looks like she wants to say something else but stops herself and spins around.

Holding her keys up, she unlocks the car, making the headlights flash, and opens the door. Looking over her shoulder at me quickly and then back down at her feet, she clears her throat, and bends slowly, giving me the most incredible view of her ass in that dress while carefully removing her black heels as gracefully as one can manage, I assume.

She tosses them into the car and hikes her skirt up a little, and I have to force myself to look away.

Not the time or place to be leering at the woman.

The ground seems as good a place as any to stare while she shimmies herself into her seat and closes the door behind her.

When I look back, I have to stop myself from laughing at how close she is to the steering wheel. I swear if she took a deep breath right now, her tits would honk the horn.

She licks her lips, keeping her eyes straight ahead, her shoulders tense.

She’s thinking. Processing.

After a minute, she looks directly at me through the glass and narrows her eyes. As she lowers the window, I brace myself, ‘cos I know that look on her face too damn well.

“I called you,” she snaps, clearly having worked herself up into a rage during her sixty seconds of silence. “Messaged you. Went to your house when I came to visit, and nothing. Nothing for four years.” The tremble in her voice fucking cuts through me. “Four fucking years, Pax,” she repeats, blinking away the tears I know she doesn’t want me to see.

I nod, because what else is there to say? I know she did. I may not have gotten the first few calls and texts, seeing as I threw my phone into the ocean the day she left, but when I replaced it, I read every message. Listened to every voicemail. I went camping when I knew she was coming to visit. Did everything I could to try and distance myself from her for that first year.

At that point in my life, I thought it was the only way. I was a stupid, angry kid who thought I knew all the answers.

I was wrong, and when I tried to fix my mistake, it was too late. She’d blocked me, didn’t want to hear from me. She’d moved on, rightfully so.

If I could go back, I’d do things differently.

But that doesn’t fix shit now, does it?

Regret doesn’t erase pain.

“Say something,” she snaps, eyes frantically searching my face for a reason, for an excuse, an explanation. I don’t have one, not one that she wants to hear right now, anyway.

“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it more than she knows. It’s not enough, but it’s true.

Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head and turns back to her windshield, tightening and then loosening her grip on the steering wheel. “Are you in town much longer, then?”

She’s stalling. She doesn’t want to leave. That’s a good sign.

“Could be.”

She nods, pushing the hair from her face with both hands before she leans down and the engine of her car hums to life.

Accepting defeat, for now, I say nothing. Just stand there and wait for her to leave so that I can follow.

When she doesn’t put the car in drive after a full minute, I step forward, and note the way her hands are shaking as she grips the wheel. “Are you really okay to drive home?”

“Yes,” she rushes out, not bothering to look my way. “I just need a minute.” She turns her head and looks me up and down. “I don’t want to keep you.”

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