Page 12 of Hard to Forgive

I put my laptop bag down and slid my chair over to the edge of Jonas’s desk.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I began, fully intent to unravel the mystery of the man beside me.

He looked up at me. His eyes were stormy, and his lips were pressed together in a rigid line. “Leave me alone.”

What. The. Fuck?

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“I did, but I didn’t understand. Did I do something to offend you?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. He scooted his chair backwards. “Is it about last night? I get that it could be awkward but—”

“It has nothing to do with last night,” he snapped. “I bet that was a real hoot for you, huh?”

I was missing something. I was missing a lot of somethings. I was pretty sure I was missing everything at this point.

“Just leave me alone, Silas.”

He spat my name out like it was poison. I rolled my chair back to the desk I’d wanted so badly moments before. Now, I didn’t want it. I grabbed my bag and abandoned the desk. There was an open desk next to Isabel, and at least she didn’t seem to hate me for some reason.

I really did need to figure out what the fuck his problem was. Otherwise, working on this project was going to be a nightmare.

My first day of work passed relatively quickly after my confusing run in with Jonas Koetter. The name still itched at the back of my mind. His face was still familiar. It killed me that I couldn’t place it, that I didn’t know where I knew him from.

It ate at me well into the night when I realized that I was an absolute idiot.

No, where I knew him from did not flash into my memory. That would’ve been too easy. What I realized was that we lived in the age of social media. I didn’t know anyone our age that didn’t have a social media presence.

I pulled out my phone and began searching. It didn’t take long to find him.

It took longer to find a common thread.

I’d been right in thinking we’d gone to school together. He’d been a year behind me. I couldn’t imagine that I’d had much interaction with him. Not enough to warrant the vitriol he’d thrown my way after hearing my full name. His social media may have cleared up where I knew him, but it didn’t clear up why he hated me.

There were no pictures or posts from that time. In fact, most of his profiles started only a few years prior, like he’d popped into existence in college with a fully formed history but no prior digital footprint. A memory itched, just out of reach. I wished I had my yearbooks, but they were at my parents’ house and no amount of brain itch would make me pay them an unscheduled visit.

I almost threw my phone across the room. I was frustrated. It was frustrating not being able to recall where I knew him from. Then another stroke of brilliance hit me.

Mariah.

My ex-girlfriend.

I was grateful for the fact that we’d stayed in contact. I was even more grateful for the fact that we’d ended our relationship on a positive note. Otherwise, calling her to figure out why my new coworker hated me might have been awkward.

I pressed her contact and waited for her to answer.

“Who actually calls anyone these days, Si?” she asked as soon as she answered. I could almost imagine the frustrated and confused look on her face.

It made me smile. “Call me old fashioned.”

“Are you calling to finally make plans now that you’re back in town? Which I had to learn from your Instagram. Bad form.”

“Sorry, babe.” I wasn’t. Not really. I would’ve called and let her know when I was settled back in King’s Bay. “I’ve only been back a few days, and I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah? What have you been busy with?”

“Getting my apartment together,” I told her bluntly. “Starting a new job.” Getting laid by a complete stranger who hated me for reasons yet to be determined. “That’s actually why I’m calling.”

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