Page 99 of Rebellious Reign

He shoves a piece of paper at me, and I check over the information. There’s only an account number with my name above it, but it’s not mine. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Come on, girlie. I’m about to head home.”

“You live next to me,” I tell him. “You don’t have far to go.”

“I have a roast in the Crock-Pot calling my name. I don’t want to sit here and watch you stare at a piece of paper all day.”

“All right, old man,” I tell him with a quick smile. “Hold on to your suspenders.”

He scoffs.

“There’s a problem though. This isn’t my account. I want to keep withdrawing from the old account.”

“Suit yourself,” he says, gathering the paper and tearing it down the middle. “Now, go on, so I can lock up.”

I leave and realize that I need to see if I’m right.

I try to tell myself that’s the only reason I’m going back to Connor-—to tell him to stop—but I can’t help the warmth that rushes through me at the thought that I am right. And he hasn’t moved on after these past few months. Maybe he doesn’t hate me. Maybe his check-ins at the diner aren’t to see how badly I’m doing without him.

I pull my phone out and send a text.

Where are you?

I get a pin-dropped location back, and I huff out a sigh. Of course that’s where he is. I head inside to shower and throw on some nicer clothes, and then I’m in my car, stopping at a gas station on my way out of town.

* * *

I pull up,déjà vu hitting me hard as I stare at his car beside mine. I remember everything about that night. The excitement. The way his shirt felt underneath my hands. The picnic blanket and basket. It was perfection. I don’t want this moment to ruin that memory for me.

I get out of my car, grabbing the plastic sack of snacks I picked up, and I turn to face the open field. I can’t see anything, the darkness completely consuming everything now that my car lights are off.

“Are you just going to stand there?” his voice says.

I start walking toward him. My eyes finally adjust, and I find him splayed out on a blanket, hands propped behind his head as he stares up at me. I shift, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. He waits.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

He’s going to make me spell it out.

“Everything. It was all you, wasn’t it?”

“You are going to have to be a little clearer.”

The sight of his smirk causes my heart to stutter in my chest. But I can’t stop now.

“The job, the affordable rent. The scholarship and year supply of coffee. The discounts and change in bank account on my rent. You’ve been manipulating my life like a puppeteer.”

“Are you angry?” he asks simply, not bothering to correct me.

“I don’t know what I am. I didn’t think you cared.”

“Why?”

“You let me leave. I walked out, and you didn’t come after me.”

“You needed to leave. You needed the choice between me and what you thought you wanted. I’m not a good man. I’m not good for you.”

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