That was playing dirty, and I didn’t appreciate it.
But I let him. And I even liked it.
I more than liked it.
He was looking at me. I was looking at him. I swear the air between us practically hummed. He had changed so much, but he was still my Adam. The boy I had loved most of my life. It was impossible to see him as anything else when he looked at me like that. But then Chelsea ‘bitchface’ Sloane showed up and reminded me all over again why staying far away from Adam ‘stab you in the back’ Ducate was the best thing for me.
So why did I feel like a mopey teenager all over again? That’s what Adam did to me. He made me feel vulnerable. Powerless. Rejected.
Damn him to hell.
“Hey, are you done for the day?” asked the man in question.
My hand stilled on the lid of the paint can I had just closed up. I thought long and hard about opening it back up and tipping it over the side, watching in satisfaction as it dumped all over his pressed trousers and shiny shoes.
Instead, I tapped the lid, securing it, before cranking the lever to take myself to the ground. I hadn’t really spoken to Adam since Monday and the “Chelsea Incident,’ but I thought about it more than I should. Seeing her kiss him had made me want to vomit. The worst part is they looked great together like they belonged. It made me want to break things. Why hadn’t I accepted this was the way things were going to be by now? Mom was right. It’s been ten years. Why in the heck haven’t I moved on yet?
Maybe a part of me was fueled by my righteous anger. Maybe, just maybe, if I stopped being angry at Adam, I would have to acknowledge my other feelings. And I was not going there.
Once I was back on firm ground, I started packing up my things. I chucked the brushes into the rugged toolbox I used to cart around my supplies.
“Here, let me take that.” Adam went to take the toolbox, but I immaturely swung it out of reach. I felt a little like a kid playing keep away.
“I’ve got it under control,” I grunted, setting the heavy box down at my feet. It was almost six o’clock, and most of the office had cleared out. It seemed that Adam was the last one there. I wondered if that was a usual thing. He seemed to work late most days.
Not that I was paying attention to his comings and goings.
Adam looked perturbed. “You’re angry at me. What else is new?” he muttered.
There were a hundred rage-filled retorts bubbling at the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed every single one. I was rather proud of myself. Instead, I walked around him, and picked up the rest of my stuff, shoving it quickly in my canvas backpack and swung it over my shoulder. I pulled out my keys and headed toward my car without another word.
Fuck Adam Ducate and his pinkie and his smile and his chipped front tooth that he never had fixed.
It was difficult not to stab him with a hundred hurtful words, but I knew saying anything would lead to an argument, and I was tired and sweaty and wanting a cold beer. Those needs trumped the desire to hurl insults at tall, blond, and obnoxious.
Of course, leaving wouldn’t be that easy. Not where Adam Ducate was concerned.
“Wait a minute,” he called out, but I didn’t slow down. I kept walking toward the street, my hands are laden down with my supplies.
I felt his hand on my arm, gently pulling. Against my better judgment, I stopped. But I sure as hell wouldn’t turn around. He stepped into my path, his hand still on my arm. “You know, I thought you doing this mural might—I don’t know—melt the ice a bit. But I feel like you’ve built all the new walls in the last couple of days. What gives?”
I was exhausted and wasn’t in the mood to have it out with Adam on a public street. I could see Mr. Johannsson, my old science teacher, walking down the sidewalk. I lifted my hand in greeting, and he waved back. Dana Miller, Mom’s coworker, was coming out of the drug store, dragging her two kids along behind her. Madeline Sheeney, a girl we went to high school with, was jogging down the road. I couldn’t walk two steps in this town without bumping into someone I knew, so screaming at Adam in view of all of Southport wasn’t the smartest idea.
But I wasn’t sure I could stop myself if he kept pressing me.
“Nothing. I’m tired. I need to get home—”
“Don’t lie to me, Meg. You don’t think I can’t tell when you’re bullshitting me? You start picking at your thumb.” He pointed to my left hand and damn if he wasn’t right. I shoved my hands into my pockets. He then pointed at my nose. “And your nostrils flare a bit. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“Fine. Yes, I’m avoiding you. I don’t want to talk to you, Adam. We’re not friends anymore. We have no place in each other’s lives. This mural won’t change the past, and it sure as hell won’t alter the future.”
Adam shook his head. “Will this ever not be about Chelsea?”
I couldn’t stop myself from flinching at the sound of her name in his mouth. I hated it. Damn him for bringing her into this...again.
“It’s not just about Chelsea, Adam. It never has been.”And I realized that was true. My anger and hurt were more about how quickly he dropped our seventeen years of friendship once he got laid.
Adam ran a hand through his dark hair, closing his eyes briefly. “I was a seventeen-year-old dumbass, Meg. You can’t hold the decisions of a teenager against me forever.”
I clenched my hands into fists in my pockets. “A seventeen-year-old kid that married that decision. And stayed married to her for years.”
Adam looked pained. “I know. If I could go back in time and do things over—”
“But you can’t,” I interrupted sharply.
There was a gulf of silence between us.
Adam reached out and pulled my hand free of my pocket, cradling it in his. “But I’m divorcing her. Can’t we move past it? Why are you holding onto this animosity? Can’t I do anything to change your mind?” He took a breath. “I miss you, Meg. I’ve missed you for the past ten years. Haven’t you missed me?”
I felt myself soften. He was hard to resist.
But…
I pulled my hand away, my fingers curling into my palm. I could feel the bite of my nails as I pressed them into my flesh, digging in. Drawing blood.
“I know I’m being unreasonable,” I admitted, and there was a flash of something in Adam’s blue eyes that looked like hope. I almost felt bad for dashing it to the ground. “My anger is probably completely irrational. It’s been a long time; I should be able to get over this. But for some reason, I can’t, Adam. I hate you for choosing her over me. I’ve tried to move past it. Trust me, I really, really have. But it keeps coming back to one basic fact.” I looked him straight in the eyes. Unflinching. “I offered you my heart, and you chose hers instead. The girl who terrorized me for years. The girl who tried to get me kicked out of the Honor Society by inventing a bogus story about me cheating on my English test. The girl who told everyone in school that I had crabs. I was called ‘crab girl’ for over a year.”
Adam’s mouth was pinched, his brow furrowed. “She was a horrible person. She is a horrible person. I want nothing to do with her. I can barely stand to be around her.”
“It didn’t look like that on Monday,” I spat out.