Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T #1)(83)

“Come on, Lib. Sit down.” Payton tries this time, but it’s one of those moments where there isn’t a way to come back from it.

Not right away.

“It’s fine, Fee. I just don’t think making a joke out of my situation is funny.” I don’t make eye contact, knowing it’s going to upset me to see her hurt by my coldness. “You guys can stay. I can take a cab if you’re not ready to go, Sophie.”

“No, I’ll take you. You’re sure, though?” She thinks I’m leaving because of Fee, but the truth is it’s not Fee who has me running.

It’s Hetch.

I’m not ready to see him.

Just like yesterday when I discovered he was coming to visit Mitch. I ran.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I reach for my bag, tucking it under my arm, then lean down and kiss Payton’s cheek.

“Thanks for getting me out. It helped.” It’s a lie, one I offer anyway because I know she’s disappointed I’m leaving early.

“Message me when you get home.” She stands and gives me a hug. Glancing briefly at Fee, I watch her slide out the booth, coming to stand in front of me when Payton steps away.

“I’m an *, you know? I feel terrible you’re leaving.” She wraps me up in her arms and squeezes hard.

“You are an *, but I still love you.” I return her hug and then let her go.

“You guys have a good night,” I tell them before following Sophie out to the car.

Not risking a peek around me, and with my phone carefully locked away in my purse, I have no idea if Hetch knows I’m leaving.

Is he waiting for me? Will he be upset with me? Should I have gone to him? The questions roll over and over, each one casting more doubt over my need to run.

It’s not until Sophie pulls up at the front of my place I see him pull in behind her. He followed me home.

“You want me to stay?” Sophie’s eyes track Hetch when he exits his truck and hangs back, waiting for me.

He looks good, too good.

Dark jeans, tight Henley, five o’clock shadow. He stands tall, legs apart, arms crossed over his chest. I almost smile at how strong and handsome he looks until I remember he broke my heart.

“I have to talk to him at some point, right?” I lean over and kiss her cheek good-bye. “I’ll be fine.” I offer what I hope to be a reassuring nod and then exit her car.

She idles in the drive for another minute or two, before taking me for my word and backing out. Not ready to turn, I stay unmoving, my back to Hetch, my eyes on the retreating red taillights of Sophie’s car.

Finally, when the lights fade to nothing, the car no longer in sight, I force a reassuring breath, turn, and make my way up to my apartment.

I don’t make eye contact with him, unsure of what I can say. I almost expect him to ignore me until he calls out, ruining my easy getaway.

“Liberty.” His voice travels across the darkened parking lot and wraps around me like I imagine his arms want to. “Can we talk?”

“Oh, you’re ready to talk?” I spin around with the same amount of grace a three-hundred-pound linebacker would have on a balancing beam.

“Sweetheart, I know you're angry, but I just want to explain.” He risks a step closer to me, and like a caged animal, I react.

“For three weeks I’ve been sitting around waiting for you to explain.” I sweep my arm out in front of me, my finger slicing through the air. It’s almost like I have no control of my limbs. No control over my words.

“Every day wondering where you were, if you were okay. I called, messaged, and knocked, and you ignored me.” He takes another step closer, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop. I can’t stop. I’ve been allowing my anger to fester for so long I need a release.

“I wasn’t asking for much, Hetch. Just to know you were okay. I was worried. Fuck, I thought you were going to do something stupid.” I hate the shake in my voice, hate I even had the thought. Hate the heated flush of rage that covers my body from the inside out. But I was there. I held the man while he cried for his father. “Jesus, I had your mom and your sister out looking for you. Do you even care how sick to the stomach I’ve been? Do you care I couldn’t eat for days?”

“Baby, I f*cked up.” He brings a shaky hand out in front of him like he’s worried I’m going to make a run for it and he needs to approach with care.

“Yeah, you f*cked up. You f*cked up so badly, I’m not sure you can fix it.” He’s in front of me now. My pulse is speeding and my muscles quiver, and in a brief moment of clarity, I see my own fear reflected back at me.

“Please don’t say that, baby.” His hands cup my jaw, holding me steady in his grasp. I want to slap him away, scream at him not to touch me, but the warmth from his touch anchors me there. The gentleness of his voice, robbing me of any more fight.

“Say anything you want, but don’t say we can’t fix us.” His eyes glass over, like the lake down behind my parents’ house in the middle of February, and it’s a stark contrast to the warmth I’ve grown to love.

“You left, Hetch.” I fight the wobble in my chin, the crack in my resolve. “You left me after you begged me never to leave you.” This time, I can’t control it. Over three weeks of anguish holding me hostage, finally pours out of me. I lash out, hitting him against his hard chest, releasing my anger and my heartache.