Yes. No. It’s not like that. “Wes…”
He pushed up to a full sit and reached for his shirt, which was at the end of the bed. “No, it’s fine. I’m not that slow. I think I got it. I told you I wanted more. You have no interest in that. Message heard.”
“Wes,” she repeated.
But he shook his head. “Don’t. I get it, Rebecca. I was just supposed to be a distraction. I was supposed to be fun. I changed the game tonight without permission. My mistake. The lawyer just wanted a fling.”
She sat up, pulling the covers up to cover herself, her heart pounding hard. “Please, don’t leave like this. It’s not you—”
He scoffed and gave her a derisive look. “Please don’t do that. Don’t do the It’s not you, it’s me speech. You’ve told me from the start that I’m not your type. You told me you didn’t want anything serious. I’m clearly a bad listener.”
Everything inside her was folding in on itself, collapsing as Wes climbed out of the bed to pull on his pants. She’d known this had to happen, but she didn’t want it to happen like this. “Wes, you know this never would’ve worked. I’m your rebound. And I’m—”
“Ha! Fantastic. Now you’re fucking psychoanalyzing me, too? You and my brother should open a practice. Poor, addictive Wes is on the rebound or getting addicted to a girl or setting himself up for another failure.” He zipped up his pants with enough force to risk injury. “But no one seems to realize that I’m a grown-ass man. Yeah, I screwed up. Big time. I’m the first to admit that. But I also have been through enough now to know my own goddamned mind. I know what I feel. And unlike you, I trust those feelings.”
He held his arms out to his sides. “So yes, this has been quick. Yes, I haven’t been in a healthy relationship probably ever, but that’s how I know what’s special when I see it now. This—how I feel, how things have been between us—is not normal. It’s been abnormal in the best possible way. Which is why I was willing to take the risk and tell you that tonight. Because I didn’t want to let it slip through my fingers.”
Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and she hugged her knees to her chest.
“And you may not want a relationship with me,” he said, his voice bouncing off the walls, “but I’ll be damned if you try to tell me this was just physical for you. Because that’s bullshit. You know this was good. You know this was different.”
Was. The past tense rang in her head. Was. They were now a was.
She wanted to agree, to tell him he was right, but all she could say was, “I’m sorry.”
He stared at her and then shook his head. “Right. You’re sorry. Me too.” He walked over to the dresser to grab his phone and keys. “Thanks for the food truck, Rebecca. I guess I at least got paid for my services, even if I had to take off more than my shirt.”
She stiffened like he’d slapped her. But before she could respond, he was out the door.
Gone.
Like so many other people she’d loved in her life.
She listened for the slam of the door and then, wrapped in her sheet, barely made it to the living room to lock up. She curled in the fetal position on her couch and let the tears have their way. Knight trotted over from his spot by the door and laid his head on her thigh, whimpering, which only made her cry harder. When she stroked his fur, he jumped onto the couch and curled up next to her as if to tell her she wasn’t alone. But she was. Again. Always.
At least it was now and not one year, five years, ten years into something with Wes where she wouldn’t be able to recover. At least this pain was familiar.
She’d gotten good at goodbyes.
chapter
TWENTY-FIVE
Wes leaned on his elbows at the bar, watching the light catch the facets of the crystal lowball glass and the amber liquid inside. He’d ordered the most expensive whiskey on the menu and could smell the smoky scent even over the food scents in the bar. His knuckles were bloodless against the glass and had been that way for the last twenty minutes.
“Something wrong with your drink, sugar?” the female bartender asked as she grabbed a few bills from the vacated spot two stools over.
Wes didn’t look up. “No, it’s fine.”
“All right,” she said brightly. “Well, you let me know when you need a refill, or if you need me to pry it from your hands and dump it down the sink.”
He lifted his head at that. “What?”
She shrugged and nodded toward his grip on the glass. “I’ve seen this argument before. If you need me to help you win it, I can.”
He gritted his teeth. “I don’t need any help.”
“No worries.” She tapped the top of the bar. “Give ’em hell.”