Landon & Shay: Part Two (L&S Duet #2)(45)

“I would never want you to be unhappy, Shay.”

“Then why did you leave?” she snapped. The words came out so raw I almost thought I’d imagined them, but the pained expression in her eyes told me I’d heard her correctly. I parted my lips to reply, but she shook her head. “Don’t answer that. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to know.”

“I can, Shay. I can try to explain, at least.”

“No. I refuse to be how we were before, dramatic and heavy. Nothing heavy.”

I took a few steps toward her. “We can be heavy for a minute. There’s a lot of history between us.”

“Yes, exactly. History—past tense. Besides, I’m over it. I’m over you. Everything’s fine.”

I frowned, finally seeing the reactions coming from her that I thought would appear. I slid my hands into my pockets and took a step forward. The closer I grew to her, the more tense she became.

“Dammit, Landon, will you stop walking toward me?”

“I can’t help it, Shay. I just want to be near you after not for so long.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Mine,” I admitted. “Everything that went wrong with us was because of me, and I want to make up for that.”

“Stop saying that kind of crap,” she ordered. “You can’t just show up and start saying that kind of stuff, because you’ll make me say something, too.”

“Like what?” I asked. I needed to know. I needed to know what was on her mind, and where her thoughts for me were residing. “What would you say?”

She had to be feeling it. She had to be feeling the strong connection between us, the magnetic pull that we’d always had whenever we were near one another. Never in my life had I felt a link as strong as the one I’d had with Shay.

The words that left her mouth weren’t what I was expecting to hear. I didn’t know what I was looking for, or more so hoping for, but what she gave me felt like a knife through the heart.

“I hate you, Landon.”





17





Shay





What. A. Freaking. Jerk.

What nerve Landon had walking up to me, looking all dapper, rich, and famous, like he hadn’t stomped on my heart and left me to die all those years ago. What nerve he had to keep following me that night, to keep trying to reconnect with me after all those years had passed.

I’d imagined what it would be like running into Landon a million times in the past. I’d played out scenarios of how I’d react. I’d gone through every version of it, too. There were three top set-ups I’d settled on the most.

Instant love. I see him, forgive him for everything he did and ignore the fact that he disappeared, broke my heart, and left me for Sarah freaking Sims.

Unleash the rage of a million demons. I snap like a childish psychopath and definitely don’t act my age or display any form of class.

Be like Michelle Obama. When he goes low, I go high. I appear above it all. I smile, I nod, I agree, and I let him know we are civil and fine. Fiiine. I comment on how we were so young when we were dating, we moved on, and I wish him well.



Let’s be honest, I didn’t wish him well.

There was a good period of time when I wished him massive diarrhea during a red carpet event. I wished he’d trip on the steps before accepting his many Oscars. I wished he’d go bald at thirty. There were many things I wished for Landon, but I definitely didn’t wish him well.

Between the three choices, number three was the most grown-up version. Also, I thought that version didn’t provoke any emotions good or bad from me, which made it appear as if he had no effect on me whatsoever. That was exactly what I wanted, too. I wanted him to think I felt nothing good or bad. I kept it classy. Meghan Markle would’ve been so proud of me.

But then, I started drinking, and the alcohol made my emotions skyrocket to a new height, giving me more rage than stillness.

“I hate you,” I repeated as he stood in front of me.

Four words left my lips, leaving me standing there with a very stunned Landon.

His face dropped, and my stomach rolled as I repeated the words. “I hate you so much it makes me want to scream. I hate how you just showed up at my place after all this time, with no rhyme and no reason. I hate that you walked in as if we could just be the people we were before and fall back into some normal conversation. And mostly I hate you because it was the only way I was able to stop the aching in my chest from the pain you caused me.”

“Shay—”

“Don’t.” I shook my head, feeling the whiskey coursing through my system. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it still belongs on your tongue. I worked hard to get over you, Landon. I worked hard to get over the hurt you caused me, the heartache you created. So, excuse me if I don’t feel as if we can have anything more than friendly conversation. Excuse me if I was trying really hard to keep things casual with sarcasm and lightness, but I’m drunk now, and emotional, and I can’t really be near you like this, because my mind doesn’t know how to be drunk and near you. My mind is betraying me and making me think I want to talk to you, get some answers… hold you, hug you, ask how you’ve been, and I can’t do that. I can’t open that door, because I hate you. I have to hate you, Landon,” I said, my voice low and shaky.