I narrow my eyes at him.
He holds up both hands. “Fine, fine. Also because it’ll make for great television.”
I stand and head toward the door. “That’s what I figured.”
I slip through it and head up to my bedroom, kind of thankful I don’t run into him on my way there because I don’t know what I might’ve said if I had.
I don’t know if I’m ready to confront what I just found out.
I need time to think.
I can’t deny it, though. Seeing him say the things he said on that little tablet screen affected me.
He’s in love with me. I’m in love with him.
The question remains, though: is love enough? Can the very unstable foundation we built over a few short days withstand the substantial changes coming our way?
Or would it be easier to say it was just a fling?
I know the answer. It would be easier to bow out.
But love means risking everything, and based on how I felt in the few days we spent together when we weren’t enemies...I’m pretty sure he’d be worth it. We would be worth it.
I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.
I find no answers there, and I realize that thinking things through has not in any way been my mojo when it comes to Gage Hoffman.
I’ve been impulsive and unpredictable, and I’ve acted on my heart and my feelings without thinking it through even when it was out of character for me.
So why am I up here right now thinking it through?
I stand.
I draw in a deep breath.
I take a step toward the door, and then, before I lose my nerve, I open it and head down the stairs.
It’s time to admit how I feel to the one person who needs to hear it.
My heart pounds harder with each step I take toward him. I don’t even know where he is, to be honest, but I’ll find him.
I scan the family room and kitchen, and both rooms are quiet. I check the basement, and he isn’t there. Not in the food room, either.
I finally find him out on the patio. He’s stretched out on a lounge chair. A bottle of whiskey is perched on the table beside him, and he sits with a tumbler pressed to his lips as he stares out over the pool and beyond into the darkness of night. The waves roll onto the shore not far away, the only sound breaking into the tranquil night.
“Hey,” I say. I perch on the edge of the chair beside his.
He glances over at me. “Hey,” he grunts. He holds up a glass as if to ask if I want some, and I shake my head.
“Can we talk?”
He shrugs and returns his gaze to the darkness of the beach. “Go for it.”
“Are you drunk?”
He chuckles. “Takes more than a few glasses of whiskey to get me drunk these days, darling.”
“Darling?” I mutter.
“So good thing I’ve had more than a few,” he says as if I didn’t speak at all.
I blow out a breath, and then I shift so I’m leaning back on my own lounge chair. “Why are you out here drinking by yourself?”
“Nothing else to do. No phones, no television, can’t even find porn on that shitty old computer they let us use. Tired of swimming, tired of working out, bored as fuck. Thought maybe drinking would help with the boredom.” He’s not slurring yet, but he’s definitely acting...strange.
“Has it?”
He shrugs. “Not yet. But you’re out here now, so things just got marginally more interesting.”
“Glad to be of service,” I murmur, and he laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Okay,” I say, and I move to stand. “We can just talk tomorrow.”
“No, no, stay,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I want you to.”
“And you always get what you want, right?” I ask.
He snorts. “Hardly.”
“Name one time you didn’t,” I challenge.
“Oh, uh, how about the day you walked out my hotel room door?”
Silence falls between us. I have no response to that because it wasn’t what I wanted, either. It was our agreement, though. It was what we both had to do at the time.
I regret that now.
He was a stranger. What harm would there have been in just telling him what I was really doing in LA? I didn’t have to give specifics, and maybe we would’ve figured out the truth ahead of time instead of blindsiding each other that first night.
But we’ll never know now.
“I don’t think you can count it if you told me to go. You can’t say you want one thing and then act all butthurt when you get exactly what you asked for.”
“When did I act butthurt?” he asks.
“Just now. And maybe ever since I walked in the front door of this house.”
“I was just surprised to see you, that’s all.” His voice is low, almost like he’s confessing something.
“How different would things have been if we’d been honest about why we were both in Los Angeles when we met?” I ask.
“We can’t change it, so no use contemplating it.” His tone turns a little snide. “We weren’t honest, and we got here, and now one of us will leave with nothing while the other will get everything.”
“You’re right.” Except he’s not. One of us will leave with nothing, and the other will get...the final prize. But that’s it. It’s not like he’ll have me if he wins, not any more than I’ll have him if I do. But I see beyond his words. He may have said some things on that tablet, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be with me. I blow out a breath. He’s drunk, I’m tired, and now I’m a little angry on top of it.
Something changed from our frank conversation just a few days ago before the final competition. Maybe it’s nerves getting the best of both of us, or maybe the truth lies in the fact that soon this will all be over.
Whatever the case, I can’t have the conversation with him that I came out here to have.
So I bolt.
“There’s no use talking to you when you’re like this.” This time when I move to stand, he doesn’t say anything to try to keep me in my chair. He just lets me go.
And despite what I heard him say earlier today when Ben showed me the tablet, it feels very indicative of what the future holds for us.
CHAPTER 51: GAGE
I wince as I pry my eyes open.
I guess if I win, waking up hungover will be par for the course...right?
Something tells me it can be if I choose to make it that, or it doesn’t have to be. The MFB guys seem pretty laid back, so they probably won’t care what sort of shit I get into so long as I don’t make too many headlines and I’m ready to take the stage when the time calls for it.
Did I say something to her last night?
I vaguely remember her huffing her way back inside after a short chat on the patio, but I was pretty far gone at that point.
This situation is just...weird.
I’m here in a house with a girl who’s basically my ex—a girl who pretty much hates me—and I have literally nothing to do. No phone. No computer. No television. I can’t leave. I can’t go beyond the boundaries.
I can play my bass. I can eat. I can swim. I can drink.
That’s about it.