“Wh-what are you doing in here?” I ask as he stares me down, his eyes stealing any strength I have left, which is pretty much none.
His jaw works to the side before he says, “I see old habits don’t die hard, huh?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, taking a step back, needing some space from the powerful presence in front of me.
“Leaving without saying goodbye.” It’s a well-deserved jab, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt . . . bad.
“I . . . didn’t think—”
“How long have you lived here?” He folds his arms across his brawny chest, his pecs thick and defined beneath his jersey.
No hi. No how are you. No, wow, I haven’t seen you in a while. He’s skipped past all pleasantries, strapped on a load of anger, and he’s going right for it.
Nerves bounce around in my stomach, twisting and churning. I’ve dreamt of those eyes, but instead of sharp brows hanging over them, they were full of love. I’ve dreamt of those lips, but instead of a thin line of irritation, they were pressed against mine. And I’ve dreamt of those arms, but instead of folded and closed off, they were wrapped around my body, holding me tightly against him.
I can’t seem to breathe around him, or find my words for that matter. It’s too much—the memories, the way he smells, the hard look in his eyes. There’s so much anger, so much unsaid between us. The wound I created never truly healed. That’s evident right now.
“Are you going to answer me?” he growls. “How long have you lived here?”
I swallow hard, my hands twisting together in front of me, palms sweaty, nerves shot. “I . . . uh.” Tears fall down my cheek. “Since college.”
“Since—” He sucks in a sharp breath and spins around, pushing his hand through his hair as if he can’t possibly believe it. Finally, when he faces me again, he speaks through gritted teeth. “You’ve lived here since fucking college and you didn’t tell me?”
“You had your own life. I didn’t want to mess that up.”
“You were my life, Emory. Fuck!” He pulls on the back of his neck with both hands and looks to the ceiling. More tears stream down my face. “I can’t believe you’ve been here all along, knowing I’m a goddamn phone call away, and never connected with me. What happened to friends forever? What happened to staying in touch?”
“It goes both ways,” I say on a sob.
“Yeah, it sure fucking does. Which means the minute you knew I was called up to the majors you should have let me know where you were.”
“You were with Mia.”
“Fuck Mia. She was nothing compared to you. Goddamn, Emory, don’t you realize how you fucking destroyed me in college? How breaking us up . . . don’t you know how much that killed me? You were the girl I wanted, the person I wanted by my side, for life. And you took that away and then hid it from me. You’ve been under my fucking nose this entire time and never said a goddamn word. Is it because you really want nothing to do with me? Did you mean more to me, than I did to you?”
I suck in a sob and try to steady my breathing, but my voice comes out choppy and hoarse. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be this upset?”
“I don’t know.” He throws his hands out to the side. “Maybe you’re embarrassed you got caught.”
“If that’s what you really think, you don’t know me at all.”
“Yeah, apparently I don’t,” he whispers-shouts, probably realizing we’re only a door away from a bunch of people. “The girl I knew would never have hidden herself away from me. She was feisty, strong, sure of what we had together. I don’t know who I’m looking at right now.”
How can he possibly see anything but love and desire for him? How can he see me shiver with emotion under his stare and think it’s anything but the all-consuming love I still have for him?
Mustering enough courage to speak my mind, I say, “The girl you’re staring at right now isn’t embarrassed she got caught, nor is she as lifeless as you’re depicting.” I point to my chest, my shirt wet from the tears that won’t stop. “This girl is full of life, full of hurt . . . full of regret. A day hasn’t gone by that I haven’t thought about the decision I made in college.” A sob escapes me. “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what we used to have, the bond we shared. And although it was my decision to end things, I wouldn’t have changed what I did because you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” I wipe away a tear. “Starting shortstop for the Chicago Bobcats.”
“I could have done that with you, Em.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Knox. You couldn’t have, and I’m not rehashing my decision with you. What I did was right for both of us.”
“It was right for you,” he snaps. “It was what you wanted, and you didn’t give me a goddamn chance to discuss it with you. You made your decision and then we both had to abide by it. It wasn’t fucking fair.”
“You wouldn’t have made the right decision.”
“And who decided what the right decision was? You?” I don’t know how to answer that, but he doesn’t give me a chance. “Color me stupid, but when you’re in a committed relationship, you usually make decisions together, not one-sided conclusions. But then again, that’s what our entire relationship was, wasn’t it? You making demands, and me fucking bending so I could get a moment of your time.”
“That’s not how it was,” I shoot back. How did we get in this moment? So angry at each other? “I was protecting my heart.”
“Because another shithead hurt you. You punished me for his past behaviors the minute we started dating. You never gave me a goddamn chance.”
“That’s not true,” I say, my voice rising, hating that he still can’t see the reasons behind everything I did. “I was protecting my heart because the minute I met you, I knew you’d ruin me in the best way possible. Everything about you—from your personality, to your commanding eyes, to your sweet, yet teasing voice—I knew any man who came after you would never compare.”
“And yet, you still broke us up.”
“I protected you.” I push my hand against his chest, moving forward into his space. “I protected you from my weak heart. Do you really think I wanted to break up with you? I fucking loved you, Knox. You were the man who pieced me back together and showed me my worth.”
His eyes narrow, his chest heaves, and his hands pulse in and out at his sides, anger rolling off him in waves.
“I thought we weren’t allowed to say those words in anger,” he says, his jaw so tight his mouth barely moves when he talks. “We’ve never said them to each other and you choose now to say them, eight years later, when it doesn’t matter?”
“If it doesn’t matter, then why do you care? If none of this matters to you, why are you in here? Are you just trying to hurt me? Because if you are, job well done.”
“I’m hurting you?” He points to his chest. “Do you realize what I had to do to try to get over you? I almost lost my starting position. Coach often threatened to bench me because I couldn’t get my head out of my ass. My entire first year in the minors consisted of me struggling mentally, because I was hung up on you. You think you helped me? That you protected me? No, you took away the one thing that kept me sane. And I’m still damaged from it. I still think about you and dream about you.” He takes a step forward, closing the space between us, the air around us shrinking. “I still wonder about what it would be like to have your lips all over my body, to eat your pussy until you scream, to be buried so deep inside you I’d never want to leave.”