Breaking Even(89)

BRIN

As always, I avoid looking at Rye’s house, not even looking at it through my peripheral, but I don’t have to look over there. He’s on my front porch, standing as I walk up my sidewalk very slowly.

This day sucks.

“Hey,” he says softly, tucking his hands into his pockets as I near him.

“Hi.” The simple, short, clipped response is a warning to just go back across the street.

“Can we talk?” he asks as he comes closer, ignoring my warning tone.

I choke back a sob and shake my head as the tears try to fall.

He exhales a slow breath while coming to stand directly in front of me, and he takes both sides of my face into his warm hands as he tilts my head up to meet his eyes. Those browns aren’t icy anymore. This is the Rye I love. It’s also the one who I don’t want to be in this loop with, because I won’t survive it.

He tried getting rid of me that night on the beach. He tried warning me over and over. But I fought and lied and clawed my way into his life. Now I have to fight just as hard to step out.

“What’s there to talk about?” I ask, trying to look away, but he holds my face still in his hands.

“You and me—we’re both miserable. I miss you, Brin. So much.”

His father knows him pretty damn well. But I made my resolve long before Rygan Clanton offered me his advice. He just cemented my decision.

“I miss you, too. But until you’re ready to tell me what’s fucked you all up, then what’s the point?”

I’m proud of the strength of my voice, and I’m really proud of the fact my heart stays in my chest when his eyes sadden. But it hurts to see him refusing me before the words even come out.

“None of that matters. I just want to be with you. Can’t that be enough?”

I want to scream yes and roar no. My own mind is becoming as contradictory and confusing as he is.

“I wish. Do you love me? Will you ever allow yourself to love me? Will you take off for days at a time when you feel yourself getting too close?” I ask, and his hands drop to his sides.

“Go out with me tonight,” he says, intentionally ignoring my questions. Like father, like son. “Just the two of us.”

“No,” I say, pushing by him on my way to the house.

“Why not?” he growls, following me to the door.

That should be rhetorical, but I answer anyway. “Because you can’t tell me this is going anywhere.”

“Does it have to be all or nothing?” he asks, trying not to sound angry, but it’s there in the undertones.

I pause, slowly digesting his words.

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. It just has to be something, Rye. Something more than simple.”

His frustrated groan reverberates through my chest, piercing my heart. “Why?”

I turn to face him, barely managing to hold myself back from pulling him to me. “Because I love you. And I won’t settle for something less than I want—or deserve—again.”

The pain on his face only breaks my heart. Seeing him this upset about my confession only sets another fire to my already flaming pit of misery. I turn away and push through the door. And he lets me go without a fight. Again.

His father is wrong. Rye Clanton is never going to want to be with me. He may love me, but it’s under extreme protest. I don’t want to fight for a man who’s not willing to fight for me. All Rye does is fight me.

For once, I want someone else to work for a relationship. Because I’m sick of carrying the weight.

***

RYE

“What are you doing?” Wren asks as I grab the roses from the countertop.

“I’m going to go get my girl back,” I say as I head out the door, and I feel his smile behind me.

She won’t fight me forever. She doesn’t understand what she’s asking to know, or she wouldn’t be asking. I can pretend she didn’t tell me that she loves me. And she can pretend that this is still simple.

We can do this.

I knock on the door, and Maggie swings it open immediately. She hates me now. And she’s a little intimidating with that whole hands-on-the-hips stance while scowling thing.

“Can’t you leave her alone?” she asks, groaning as she tilts her head back to look at the ceiling.

“Can I just give her the roses?” I aim for the most charming tone I have, but Maggie is a rather strong fortress.

“No,” she says, slamming the door in my face. I hate guard dogs.

Instead of attempting to reclaim my dignity or risk knocking again, I go and stand by her car. Eventually, she’ll have to come out.

Luckily for me, I don’t have to wait long. I’m fairly sure my heartbeat is in my chest when she walks out in a sundress, wearing small heels, and letting her hair fall down to almost reach her shoulders.