Sweet Cheeks(69)

I lean my hip against the rail beside me, refusing to back down when he steps closer. The pansy never intimidated me in high school, and this bullshit show right now from him sure as shit doesn’t either.

“Fuck you.” His voice is low. Angered. Full of spite.

“No thanks. I hear you’re a selfish lay.” A twist of my lips. A raise of my eyebrows.

“I bet that’s all she is to you, too.”

I don’t take the bait although I’d love to step into him, cock a fist back and let it fly. Put him in his place for the prick he was way back when and the bigger one he is today. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Layton?” My voice is aloof. My chuckle condescending. My eyes reflecting his own words, f*ck you, back to him.

The flash of hurt in his eyes is brief but obvious and tells me what I already know. He still loves her. There’s a quick pang in my gut as jealousy fires within because he doesn’t deserve the privilege of loving her.

“You won’t stay. You’ll break her heart again just like you’re doing to whatshername.”

Whatshername? Saylor’s comment from the other night ghosts through my mind. The truth I let her believe regarding Jenna and the rumors that are nowhere near true. How she’s believed in me enough to let it go even though I never answered. And I’m sure a part of it is because it’s been so easy to shut the outside world out while we’ve been here.

“I think you forget that you don’t get to have a say in what Saylor does or doesn’t do. What Saylor and I as a couple do or don’t do . . . that’s no longer any of your goddamn business. You gave up that right the moment you let her walk away without a fight. You sure as hell couldn’t satisfy your fiancée, let’s hope you can your new wife. But by the looks of things, you’re spending more time worrying about your ex on your wedding night than you are your wife. Your future’s not looking too bright.”

And with that, I unclench my fists and stop wasting my breath on someone who doesn’t deserve it.

I need to go find Saylor. It’s become an urgency. And I hate that Mitch’s first comment is stuck in my craw. Hate that for a man who’s always sure of everything, I suddenly feel insecure when it comes to Saylor. And insecurity kills all that is beautiful.

And Saylor is my beautiful.

I use what I know to calm the unease over why she bailed from the reception. Remind myself that over the past few days I’ve tasted her kiss, felt her body react, and seen the unspoken depth in her eyes reflecting how she feels about me.

There’s no way she still loves Mitch.

I hurry out of the reception area, hating the question I need to ask but knowing I have to. Just like she needs to ask me about what happened between Jenna and me and I need to tell her. Clear the air so we can both move forward with our pasts exposed.

I walk the grounds in a panic. Try to figure out where she might have gone and why she hasn’t returned. The thunder rumbles overhead giving an ominous warning of what’s to come.

The villa. That has to be the safe bet, but when I walk by a clearing that looks out to the ocean beyond—she’s there. Her hands are braced on a railing in front of her while her dress flutters around her legs from the wind that’s picking up.

And I swear to f*cking God my chest constricts. I’d like to think it’s because of my earlier revelation—that I do love her and have loved her for all these years—but seeing her magnifies that realization. Confirms it then unravels it from the tightly bound ball I’d kept it in.

But the other part of me wonders if that pang in my chest is from fear. What if she’s out here because she talked to Mitch and realizes that six years is a long time to throw away with someone? And that even though he’s married, maybe she still loves him like he loves her.

That’s bullshit. I’ve known her longer. I’ve loved her harder. I’ve treated her better.

But you walked out, Whitley. You didn’t fight for her either.

Lightning flashes off the coast.

“You love him still, don’t you?” I don’t mean for it to be the first words out of my mouth and yet I have to ask. Have to hear her say differently to get rid of the uncertainty.

The same uncertainty I made her live with day in and day out over whether I was coming back for her. Because I didn’t call. Didn’t respond. Made her wonder if I cared.

Her body startles at my question before she slowly turns and faces me, expression guarded in the darkness.

But you walked out.

“What?” Her voice is surprised. Or is that irritation?

The thunder growls around us.

“Do you still love him, Saylor?”

The first drop of rain lands on my cheek.

You walked out.

“No. I don’t love him, Hayes.”

Don’t twirl your hair, Saylor. Don’t show me you’re lying. I watch her hands. Wait for them to move. To give her tell.

Rain echoes around us. Drops on plants. On sidewalks. On dirt. It’s subtle but there.

It’s washing off the dirt.

Her hands don’t move.

“You don’t?”

It’s stripping away the past.

She laughs. Shakes her head. “You’re being ridiculous, you know that?” There’s a spark of temper. A flash of disbelief.

It’s cleansing. A fresh start.