Sweet Cheeks(60)

“I did actually, but Ryder answered the door. Threw a punch before I could even say a word.” He chuckles at the thought and rubs his jaw with the memory while my eyes widen in surprise. A part of me cheering for Ryder sticking up for me.

“What?”

“Yep. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so pissed. He chewed my ass like I deserved. Told me you were finally starting to eat again. Just starting to be you again,” he murmurs and his tone reflects how hard it was for him to hear how his leaving had affected me. The darkness I had lived in. Surrounded myself with and got lost in. “He told me he didn’t think I loved you because how could I do that to you? But if I did in fact love you, I’d turn around and walk away and leave you be. He knew I’d become fascinated with the bright lights and big city and would just leave again when the weekend was over and then you’d be hurt all over again.”

His confession weighs heavily in the space between us. My gut reaction is to be pissed at Ryder. For stealing a chance that was mine to decide if I wanted or not. But at the same time, he was trying to protect me and, at that time in my life, I needed protection. It’s pretty rare to be a teenager and know the person you’re dating is your soul mate like I did Hayes. And probably just as uncommon to have such an insightful older brother.

I take a sip of my water, while allowing the words to settle more, and the ones I hear more than anything are that he did truly love me. Showed it when he walked away the second time.

Something he said to me the other day echoes through my mind. Never let someone steal your passion. And I know he’s right. I know that if he hadn’t gone, hadn’t left and walked away without my holding him back, I would have been responsible for stealing his passion. My selfishness would have robbed the world of knowing his incredible talent. It would have robbed him too.

“I’m glad you took the chance, Hayes.” My voice is soft but resolute and I can see the visible startle in his body from my words.

“You don’t have to say that, Saylor.” His lips are tight. Head angled to the side as he looks at me.

“Yes, I do. Staying or me pulling you back . . . it would have stolen your chance to pursue your passion.”

He nods his head a couple times. Contemplating something I’m unsure of. “The funny thing is, Say, the older I get, I’m learning it’s okay to have more than one passion. One doesn’t have to be more important than the other. They can complement each other.”

The question is what does he mean by that?

And I think of Ryder. His ultimatum. How Hayes walked away.

He loved me. When I was hurting and swore he didn’t care about me anymore, he had loved me.

I can’t help but wonder when we part ways again, will it be under similar circumstances? That he loves me but will continue to pursue his passion, or he loved me, time’s changed us, and there’s no longer anything there?

The thought consumes me.

But he’s here. Dropped everything in his crazy life to come here for me.

Doesn’t that say something?





“Relax.” Hayes’s voice is soft, the heat of his breath a comforting feeling against my ear as the wedding march begins. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful. And it’s definitely his loss and my gain you’re sitting here with me.”

I take a deep breath and let myself lean into him for a bit more mental support. We’re standing in the last row of seats, which is the only place I wanted to sit so I could avoid seeing Mitch before the ceremony. We’re turned toward the aisle, waiting to see the bride.

When she appears, the guests suck in their breaths in reaction to how beautiful she looks while I do it out of surprise.

It shouldn’t shock me, considering everything else about this whole situation, but when I see her wearing a dress so very similar to the one I had picked it could be the same, my mouth drops open. And when I add the dress to the color scheme and flower choices I previously selected, I can’t help but selfishly feel like this whole event has been planned to rub my nose in what I could have had. Hence receiving a wedding invitation in the first place.

Is Mitch really that vindictive? He didn’t even ask me to reconsider or tell me he still loved me. Not a single word of protest.

It all comes back to me. How when I looked Mitch in the eye and told him I was leaving, having already packed and taken some things to my brother’s, he just stood there.

“I’m sorry, Mitch. I can’t go through with this.”

“With what?” There’s annoyance in his voice. I must be interrupting the PGA highlights or something.

“Our wedding.” And now I’ve got his attention. His eyes narrow and lips pull tight in disbelief.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just what I said.” My voice is even, despite the riot of nerves I feel within. “This isn’t working anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. I won’t be able to make you happy.” And you don’t know—or care—about what makes me happy in the slightest.

His chuckle fills the smothering silence of the room. “You’re joking, right? Having cold toes or whatever it’s called, are you?”

I lick my lips. Shift my feet that are anything but cold. Force myself to not avert my eyes. “No. I’m not. We’re over.”