Page 160 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

His lips pull to the side. “Maybe two, or three weeks.”

I lean back slightly, hoping I slip out of my barstool, fall to the floor,

and hit my head hard enough to blackout to avoid this situation

entirely. But I’m not nearly that lucky.

Instead, I run my hands down my face to wipe the horror from my

skin. It doesn’t work.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

He recoils away, his brows pinched. “What?”

“I said, what the fuck is your problem, Ryan?”

Shaking his head, he tosses his empty paper cup into the trash can.

“What, Leah? I’m telling you how I feel. I still love you. How could I

not? We’ve been through hell and back in ten years, and this is

nothing but a blip in our story. It’s you and me against the world,

remember?”

“No, I don’t,” I gasp with a hint of laughter. “Are you kidding me? It’s

you against me when you leave me at my lowest point in life and then

treat me like an afterthought. You even came by here, asking if I’d do

something for your wedding to another woman, a woman you’re

marrying after what, four or five months together? We had ten years,

Ryan, and you blew it.”

“I didn’t blow it—I just stepped away,” he rephrases as if that helps

his case. “You needed space, and I needed someone to be with. I had

you for ten years by my side, and you disappeared.”

Trying hard to keep my temper at bay, I calmly explain once again,

“My father died, Ryan. Did you ever think that maybe I needed your

support, and you abandoned me instead?”

He looks perplexed by such a thing, but eventually, he shrugs it off. “I

mean, yeah, but I tried. I came by every day, and you told me to leave

on that last day. You pushed me away.”

“That doesn’t mean you actually leave!”

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