Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(80)

“So what?” I grumble.

“That’s an endearment. You should be calling me any number of vile names, but you chose not to. You gave me an endearment. I think you’re still sweet on me.”

I want to slap that look off his face, and I want to kick myself in the ass for that slip of the tongue, because Gavin sees me a little too well. He always has.

Reaching down, he takes my hand softly in his. “Let’s go to our house. Let’s talk.”

Not missing the way he says “our house,” which causes all kinds of weird feelings to stir up inside of me, I start to pull away, but his hand tightens.

“Gavin… I don’t want to.”

Gone is the amusement and his look goes hard. He turns and starts walking back to his car, pulling me along behind him. “And I don’t really give a f*ck, Sweet. Give me the damn courtesy of an hour of your time.”

We walk past Brody, who is leaning back against his truck, his arms crossed over his chest as he intently watches this play out. He pins Gavin with a deadly stare and then lifts one hand to point at him. “You and me, boy. We’re going to finish this later.”

Gavin gives him a curt nod, and I wholly surprise myself when I snap at Brody. “Oh, knock it off, Brody. You’re the one that wanted him to come back, you dumbass.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, Gavin turns to look at Brody in surprise. Brody just throws his head back and laughs, then looks back at Gavin. “I almost pity you, dude.”

The entire drive to Gavin’s house is in silence. I sit hunched in the passenger seat, my arms hugging my chest, and my gaze out the window. My mind swirls with the potential of all the things that Gavin may end up saying to me, and I try to harden my heart against them. I don’t want to hear those things. I’ve made my peace, done my healing. I did the phases of grief… denial, anger, bargaining, depression… a little more anger thrown in for good measure, then acceptance.

It’s done.

I’m done.

Except, I’m completely overwhelmed just sitting next to Gavin. My heart pounds, my hands sweat, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. Or is that indigestion? Could be both.

When Gavin turns into his driveway, he slows the car to a halt and looks at the broken realty sign still laying on the ground. Clearly, no one has noticed my vandalism and fixed it.

His head swivels, and he pins me with a direct stare. “Your handiwork?”

Shrugging my shoulders, I flippantly respond, “I have no clue what you mean.”

Gavin snorts in response and continues up the driveway. “Right.”

Because there’s no escaping the inevitable, I dutifully follow Gavin up the stairs and into his house. His house. Not ours, I affirm to myself.

Throwing his keys on the kitchen counter, he walks into the living room and comes to a dead stop. His shoulders stiffen and his hands clench. “Where are the horses?”

I don’t respond. Not going to make this easy on him.

He turns to me, and his eyes are sad. “What did you do with the photographs of the horses you gave me?”

I glance over at the southern wall of the living room where I had hung them over the fireplace. It’s starkly blank, almost mocking Gavin that everything I ever gave him I took back. “Probably the county landfill, I expect,” I say coldly.

“You threw them away?” he asks in astonishment.

“It was this whole anger thing I went through. That came right in between ‘denial’ and ‘bargaining.’ But I didn’t just throw them away… I pulled them off the wall, put them on the back deck, and destroyed them with a hammer. Then I took the little itty bits of wood, glass, and paper, and threw them away. You know what it’s like, right? To throw something away?”

“I know a little something about it,” Gavin says softly, his eyes even sadder and shit… now I’m feeling sorry for him.

“Don’t even give me that ‘poor me’ look, Gavin. You have no right.”

Sighing, he grabs my hand and walks to the far side of the living room, pulling me along. When he reaches the big, overstuffed chair that sits in the corner, he releases my hand and lowers himself down. I stand there, two feet from him, and watch as he leans back and plants his feet on the floor, legs slightly apart. He props his elbow on the chair casually. Lowering his chin into the palm of his hand, he looks at me with determined eyes and says, “Okay… let’s have it.”

I blink at him. “Let’s have what?”

“Well, you’re obviously pissed at me. You need the chance to get it off your chest… lay into me. So let’s have it.”

Standing there with my arms wrapped around my stomach, I look down at him primly and say, “No thanks. I’ve made my peace with what happened between us.”

“Bollocks, you have,” Gavin says calmly. “In case you haven’t forgotten, let me remind you. You told me you were pregnant. I was a complete arse and blamed you entirely. I think I even called you stupid for doing so. I never once gave you the benefit of the doubt, I left you under the pretense of needing time to think, and I drove away from you. Straight to the airport without a backward glance, boarded a plane, and flew to England.”

“Stop it,” I say softly, because I don’t need the recap.

He ignores me. “I left you high and dry, alone while you were pregnant. I stayed away for twelve long weeks and never contacted you once to see if you were okay.”