“Hey, you used to love it here.”
We both used to love it here when she and I used to sneak beers up on the roof. And later, when we’d forget all about the damn beers when we’d get lost in each other’s lips.
Except that Ivy is gone, I can see that now. That Ivy wore ripped jeans and my old Sox t-shirts. This one’s wearing fucking heels in a place like this, and that skirt that looks entirely too good on that ass and those legs, with glamorous, bangly jewelry, makeup, and a scowl.
I never saw any of those things on the girl I used to know.
The girl I married.
That girl’s moved on.
“Yeah, well,” she waves her hand again dismissively, in this ridiculous “New York” way.
And then it hits me.
She hasn’t just gotten over me, she’s gotten over this whole damn town- all of it.
She thinks she’s better than all this now, with her stupid fashion crap, her insta-whatever, and all her fake online “friends” and “followers.” She’s forgotten all about the small-town girl I fell in love with all those years ago.
And it digs at me.
Because whatever happened with us, and that night, and then me leaving, this town is still home. This is the home that raised her, and this new big city social media queen version of Ivy is actually starting to piss me off.
“So are we going to do this every time we bump into each other?” I glare at her.
Ivy sighs dramatically. “Well I can’t imagine that’ll happen many more times since I’m leaving this town directly after Dad’s dedication.”
I roll my eyes. “I just figured we should at least talk like normal fucking people, Ivy.”
Her mouth goes tight, her eyes flaring. “About what, Silas? What do we have to talk about?”
“I would think a fair amount.”
“I already told you, I’ve moved past it,” she says, shrugging flippantly. “Yeah, it sucked when you left, but that was eight years ago, and believe me, I’ve moved on.” She holds my gaze a moment longer before she looks away. “I found someone else.”
She says it like it’s meant to cut.
It’s working.
It’s a thought that’s stabbed at me for years, knowing there’d be someone else after me. It was knowing she’d move on eventually and find someone who saw how incredible she was and loved her. And even if they didn’t love her as much as me, hell, they’d at least fucking stay.
At least they wouldn’t turn out to be exactly the criminal she never wanted to be with and live up to every shit expectation the rest of this fucking town had for them.
And I’m no saint. It’s not like I’ve been some sort of celibate monk for the last eight damn years. But none of the others ever meant a damn thing. Basic needs were met, some nice words spoken, some fun times had, and that’s it.
I never let a single damn one of them inside. Because no one ever came fucking close to holding a candle to what I had here all those years ago with this girl standing in front of me, glaring at me while Journey belts out over the bar stereo.
“Right, the surfer.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What, are you stalking me?”
I bark out a laugh. “You’ve got like a million fucking strangers who follow your shit online, and you’re worried about someone you actually know seeing your boyfriend?”
“He’s not a surfer,” she mutters. “He’s more of a digital nomad.”
I roll my eyes. “Sounds very romantic.”
“It is.”
I shut up.
“Good,” I finally say, my words crisp and my teeth grinding at the thought of her having something like that with whoever this prick is. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, good for me, Silas.”
The women’s bathroom door suddenly swings open, and two girls who I recognize from trying to run wingman for Rowan the other night tumble out, giggling. The brunette catches my eye, grinning as she recognizes me.
“Hey stranger!” She gushes with this annoying wink, stepping right up to me and running a finger up my arm before giving Ivy a stink eye.
“I didn’t even know you were here!”
I frown. “Yeah, I’m- look, I’m sort of in the middle of something.”
“Come dance!” The friend who Rowan was trying to charm the other night says with a booze-soaked smile on her face.
“Maybe later.”
I ignore them as they giggle and trip their way back around the corner to the bar.
Ivy’s lips go tight as her brows shoot up.
“It’s not like that,” I mutter.
She smiles thinly, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure its not.”
“Ivy-“