“Hey,” he says.
When I skirt my gaze back to his, he nods, as if prodding me to answer his question.
Sucking in a deep lungful of air, I steady myself. “We’re on a break because I apparently have commitment issues.”
“Good.” He laughs. The jerk laughs.
“It’s not funny.” I head across the room again and find my flip-flops under the bed. When I stand again, he’s on the other side of the bed watching me with an amused smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“He thinks you have commitment issues? Does he even know you?”
“He knows me well enough to know I’m unable to commit.”
“Since when?”
“He’s known me since—”
“Since when do you have commitment issues?” He gives me a disapproving look. “And on that note, what the fuck with you saying shit to Peck and Navie?”
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
I toss my flip-flops on top of my bag. He moves behind me. I just carry on into the kitchen and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste off the sink.
“Are we telling everyone everything about us now?” he asks.
My head whips to the side, and my eyes find his. “No.”
He nods like he doesn’t care, but I see the relief on his face.
My shoulders sag. I go about putting my things on top of my bag. They form a pile, teetering back and forth, as I add a notebook to the mix.
“Had …”
“If this is about … that,” I say, my throat thick with emotion, “then don’t.”
His hand reaches for me and rests on my arm. I stop in my tracks and stare at the point where his skin touches mine. My chest refuses to allow enough air inside to keep me even-keeled. A flurry of memories, of hopes and dreams all gather in the corners of my eyes.
I refuse to look at him, even when he says my name again. I look away, focusing on a pile of papers on the makeshift desk next to the microwave.
My tears are hot. My nose burns. My brain wrestles for control of my overstimulated nerves. Gently, I shake my arm free from him and turn completely away.
“I’ve never talked to anyone about that but you,” he says in an almost-whisper.
I sniffle, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my shirt. “I haven’t either.”
“I’d hug you if I didn’t think you’d hit me.”
I can’t suppress the soft laugh. “How can you be such a jerk and then almost sweet in the same minute?”
“It’s what happens when you’re the fourth sibling. You get whatever genes are left. My bag of DNA didn’t include enough of either, I guess. I kind of hop back and forth between them.”
“You really stay on the jerk side most times.”
He shrugs. “Probably.” He finds my car keys on the nightstand and holds them in his palm. He looks them over as if they might tell him something, before sitting on the bed. “Let’s get back to this Samuel guy.”
Plopping down on the sofa, I tuck my legs under me. Machlan watches but doesn’t press, and that concerns me. He’s a presser. The kind of guy who doesn’t give you a chance to get yourself together. But here he is, giving me space to articulate a response.
It’s enough to make me want to answer him.
“He’s nice, Mach. He …” I look around the room, trying to figure out the words to use. “He’s kind and smart and responsible.”
Much to my amazement, Machlan doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t grin or smirk or give me some one-liner that makes me want to throat punch him. Instead, he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees.
“I’ve been seeing him a while,” I add.
“Does Cross know this?”
“Yeah.”
He mumbles something I can’t hear. His knuckles turn a bright white before fading back to his usual skin tone. “I’m gonna have to disagree.”
“On …?”
“All of it.”
“All of what? There’s nothing to disagree with,” I say. “I told you my opinions.”
“And I told you mine. Look, Had. If this guy was so fucking great, first of all, he’d be here trying to get you back.”
“No. Part of what makes him great is that he gives me room when I ask for it.”
“You don’t want room,” he scoffs. “When you say that shit, you really just want someone to chase after you.”
My legs drop to the floor. A tinge of sadness sits over my heart because it shows why he didn’t come after me when I left town. “Well, I’m glad to know you know that.”
We exchange a long look. He shrugs but looks at the floor. “I’m glad to know you want someone kind and smart.”
“What did you think I want?”
“I don’t know.”
He might say that, but he doesn’t mean it. There’s an idea of what he thinks I want that he won’t say, and I wonder why. Before I can ask, he jams his hands in his pockets.
“You won’t commit to the kind, great guy. That’s what’s going on?” he asks.
“Basically.” I stand, too. “I’ll be honest with you.”
“I wish you would.”
“I want to be in love with Samuel.”
Machlan stills. He narrows his eyes just a touch, as if trying to comprehend what I said, before his hand slides in his back pocket. Out comes his can of tobacco, and the thumping of his thumb against the lid strums through the room in an easy rhythm.
“You can’t just ‘be in love’ with someone,” he says finally.
“Tell me about it.” I sigh. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t be in love with him.”
The thumping stops. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, it’s not. Do you really want to wake up one morning next to someone you made yourself love?”
I look at the floor. “Sometimes I think it would be better than not having anyone to love at all.” Shrugging, I flip my gaze to him for a moment because I can’t linger on the sadness I see in his eyes. “I’m being dramatic.”
“You still being honest?” he asks. “’Cause I’d like to know why you’re here. For real. No bullshit.”
When I turn away, he touches my arm lightly. I let him spin me to face him.
I wish I hadn’t.
His eyes search mine with a tenderness that makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry. It’s my favorite Machlan look, the one that I’ve only seen a handful of times. Usually, he’s too guarded and ornery to let himself be exposed like this, but when he does, it’s a sight to behold.
I stare at him for a long time, letting my heart find a steady pulse.
“Why are you here?” he asks again.
Without breaking eye contact, I tell him. “I need to put you in a box I can manage.”
“What’s that mean?”
Tears slip quietly down my cheeks. I don’t think Machlan notices. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“Hadley …”
“This is so embarrassing,” I admit.
He swipes a few napkins off the table and hands them to me. Our fingers touch as I take them, but he jerks his away before I can relish the micro-second of contact.
My heart pounding in my chest, my body warmed by his proximity, I do what he asked. I tell him the truth. “I’m here to figure out how to make peace with you. I fell in love with you when I was a little girl, and I can’t seem to find a place in my heart to love anyone else.”
“You don’t love me, Had.”
My jaw drops to the floor. I look at him, expecting him to laugh. Maybe grin. Chuckle, even. He doesn’t.
“How could you?” he continues, sober as a judge. “I’m not fishing for gratuitous compliments because fuck that. But look at me. Look at what I’ve done to you, what we’ve been through. How could you love me?”
“It was pretty damn easy.” I sniffle.
“This is my fault. All your memories go back to me. You moved here after your mom died, and I was the one inserting myself in your life when you should’ve been making friends and grieving.”
“I did make friends. And I did grieve.”
“And I was right there, nosing myself in.”
I force a tear-filled swallow. “I’m pretty sure I let you.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “What’s dickhead’s job?”
“Who?”
“Fucking … what’s his name?” he asks, motioning toward my phone.
“Samuel?”
“Yeah. Samuel,” he almost spits. “What’s his job?”
“He’s an auditor.”
“That’s what you need, Had. Someone like that. Not him,” he adds, “but someone like him who makes you smile and laugh. Not someone like me. Someone like me just fucks shit up.”
I hold my hand out for my keys. He’s confused for a split second, then digs them out of his pocket and places them in my hand. This time, he lets his hand rest against mine.
The warmth of his palm, the way his fingers drag over mine, kicks my tears back into high gear. My stomach knots. My chest aches.
“What can I do to help you?” he asks.
“Stop trying to kiss me.”
He almost cracks a grin as he draws his hand away. He shoves his chew can back in his pocket and trudges to the door. He pulls it open, light filling the room in a happy flood of sunshine. Neither of us smiles.
My phone rings again. We both look at it. Machlan grimaces, biting his bottom lip, before stepping outside.
“Lock up behind me,” he orders.
“I told you I was leaving.”
He leans against the doorframe, his bicep flexing as he grabs the top of the door. “And I said you were staying.”
“Mach—”