Worth the Risk(83)

I love you.

Oh. God.

“We never talked parameters, Sid. All I can offer you is fun and done. I never promised you more.”

“I never asked for more,” I whisper to save face when every part of me is reeling from those three words that never grace my lips.

“Good,” he says and turns back to the cushions on the damn chairs as if we didn’t just close the door on whatever this was between us.

“Good.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel, walk inside, pull the brownies from the bag on the counter, and leave.





Go.

Wait.

Fuck this.

When she slams the door, it reverberates in so many more places than just the house. It’s in every part of me.

Christ.

I scrub a hand through my hair and tell myself to go after her, a split second before I tell myself not to.

That I should just leave things be.

I made my point. To myself. To her.

And now, guess who feels fucking miserable? Guess who feels like a fucking asshole? Guess who just messed up the best thing he had going for him in the longest of times and doesn’t know how to fix it.

Track her down. Say you’re sorry. Beg if you have to.

Fuck. The past few days have been miserable without her constant presence in some way, shape, or form. I’ve felt it. Luke’s felt it.

It isn’t just the lack of sex I’m missing. If it were, I could fix that with a phone call.

It’s the companionship. It’s the ability to laugh over something stupid. It’s the wish to tell someone something after a chaotic day and have someone care. It’s the need to share and not feel so fucking alone.

But I don’t chase after her.

I walk into the house, see the bag of food on the counter and cringe, the sight of it reinforcing how much of a prick I am.

Fuck, yes I tested her.

Fuck, yes I waited to see if I’d get the whiny texts complaining about how she hasn’t been able to see me and how she wants me to just get a babysitter. I waited for her to send that so that I could then sit around and wait for her silence after I told her I couldn’t.

But I received none of the above.

Instead, I got text after text asking me how Luke was doing. Seeing if I needed anything. Asking if I wanted her to watch him for a bit so I could get a break.

It was a great fucking test.

Great way to make me look like more of a fucking asshole than I already am.

Great way to try to mess up her feelings because I can’t figure out my own.

Nah, I can figure them out all right.

They’re just ones I swore I’d never let myself feel again.





“You’re being a miserable fuck.”

“Grady Malone. That is no way to talk at the dinner table,” my mom says, shooting him a scowl that can make any one of us shrink.

“He kind of is, though,” Grant chimes in.

I glare at both of them and then tip my Coke back and make sure my middle finger is front and center, so they get the point.

“Is there trouble in Sidney-ville?” Grady asks as he scoots back to avoid the quick kick to his shin I just missed.

And despite my mom’s ears perking up like a damn jackrabbit at the sound of Sidney’s name, she says, “Leave him alone.”

“We fought.” It comes out of my mouth without thinking, but I’ve been sitting on it and stewing about it for the better part of a day, and the longer I keep silent, the more I feel like a jackass for the things I said to her.

“Best part about fighting is the make-up sex,” Grant says as he eyes Emerson. Her response is a swift swat to the back of the head before she presses a kiss there and takes off to make sure their girls haven’t gotten into too much trouble with Luke.

“What did you fight about?”

“Drop it, Grady,” I say.

“You’re the one who brought it up.” He shrugs and grins at me over his beer. “Did you finally tell her you want more than just slipping and sliding and she said screw you?”

We all burst out laughing at the look on our mom’s face, and she just shakes her head.

“Not quite.”

“Oh.” The chorus rings out around the table, and Dylan twists her lips as she stares at me.

“Let me guess, you told her there was nothing there when there is.”

“Not exactly—”

“Can I just call it now? He’s trying to sabotage it because she’s actually a keeper, and that scares the fuck out of him,” Grant says with a sarcastic edge that has me clenching my fists and my mom patting my arm to calm me down.

“Hey, Grant? Stay the fuck out of my—”

“Look who I found at the store!” My dad’s voice cuts me off and has everyone turning toward the patio door.

Every part of me falls at the sight of her. She looks nothing like the girl I saw the other day on the street with her friend. She has on jean shorts, a red tank top, and red Converse. Her hair is piled on top of her head, and her face is completely free of makeup.

She steals my fucking breath is what she does.

Our eyes meet. Hold. And I hate the hurt that flickers through hers. The hurt that I put there.

A chorus of greetings ring out, but I just nod, needing to say so much to her but scared to fucking death to form the words. I know that if I do, all I’ll be doing is opening myself to more hurt.