I touch his arm again. "Jax, please? I want to do this by myself."
At that, he sighs and drops his arm from my shoulders. He plants a gentle kiss at my temple before turning his murderous glare back on Steve.
"You hurt her and I will rip you apart."
The threat manages to surprise Steve, but Jax is already walking into Remy's bedroom to give us some space. I cross my arms and wait patiently for him to start talking.
But Steve is still looking at the room where Jax disappeared to. His own expression becomes more and more angry, until the question practically explodes out of him.
"Did you fuck him?" he seethes.
I just raise an eyebrow in response.
"I never knew you were into the meathead type," he spits. "I guess it makes sense why we didn't work out, then. Does a guy's IQ have to be in the gutter for you to—"
"You say one more word against him and this conversation is over," I interrupt coldly. I don't let Steve's words strike where he wants them to because I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me.
Fury still glitters in Steve's eyes, so I turn toward the front door, ready to escort him out.
"Wait," he blurts. "I want to talk. Just hear me out."
I turn back around. "So talk. But if I hear you insult my family or my friends again, I'll get Jax to throw you out. And I won't care if he breaks a few bones in the process."
Steve must sense that I'm not bluffing because he swallows and schools his expression to look apologetic.
Even though I know he's not actually capable of the emotion.
"I—" He swallows and tries again. "I want you back, Hailey. I fucked up, and I'm so sorry. I got complacent when we moved in together and stopped treating you how you deserve. I have no excuse, and I'm sorry that I ever hurt you or made you feel bad. You deserve only the best, always. Just how it was in the beginning."
I don’t buy a single word coming out of his mouth. He might believe it, but I doubt even that. I think he’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear. He wants so badly to “win” that he’s saying whatever is necessary to get me back. He doesn’t want me; he wants his power over me.
I don't interrupt. I let him talk, because I want to hear everything he has to say before giving my answer. I just watch him with crossed arms and a blank stare, feeling absolutely nothing as he talks.
He either finds his courage, or he interprets my silence as a good thing, because he takes a tentative step forward. When I don't push him away, he takes another, until he's standing in front of me. He reaches forward to cup my elbows. When I still don't move, he begins to gently rub my arms in a pattern that’s meant to be soothing. I don’t want his touch, of course, I’m just curious to see how he plays this and how far he tries to push it. It’s also further proof that he doesn’t know me or care what I need, because if he did, he’d feel my tense posture or see my lips twitching with disgust.
"Give me another chance," he whispers pleadingly. "Please, Hailey. We're so good together, you know we are. Just give me another chance. Please..."
With another tentative glance over my face, he slowly leans in to kiss me. I can't even fault him for it, because it's worked in the past more times than I care to admit.
I stop him with a hand on his chest.
"You're a narcissist," I say bluntly.
He jerks back in surprise. "What?"
I give him a firm push to move him back a few inches. "You're a narcissist," I repeat. "You're entitled, you can't accept anything less than total admiration, and you completely disregard other people's feelings."
His eyes widen as he falls back another step.
"You manipulated me during the entire relationship," I continue, deciding to tell him exactly what he’s done. If he’s not pulling punches then I won’t, either. "You used to treat me like dirt one day and then like a princess the next, just to reel me back in and make me fall in love with you again. You’d be nice for just long enough that when you’d mistreat me again, I wouldn’t be ready to leave you. You probably didn't even realize you were doing it—though that doesn't make it any less wrong. You can tell me you're sorry you stopped treating me the way I deserve and that you'll never do it again, but you don't really mean it, do you? It might take a week, or a month, or six months, but you'll go back to shitting on me. You'll make little comments about my appearance, or my job, or my past, all so you can cut down my self-esteem and make me dependent on you for even a sliver of a compliment. Because you like having that power over another person. That power makes you feel like a man.”
I shake my head, sadness lacing my expression. “I quit jobs for you, and hobbies. I alienated allof my friends and family because of you.” I let out a bitter laugh and plant my hands on my hips. “God, I even stopped listening to the music I like. That’s how much control you had over me. And you've been getting off on that, haven’t you? That you did it to someone strong? Someone like me?"
Steve's expression flits back and forth between shock and anger. I can't tell if he's pissed that I'm calling him out on his issues, or if he really doesn't realize he has a problem, but he's definitely too conflicted to even respond to my accusations.
I sigh and let my hands drop to my sides, exhaustion settling into my bones. I've been wanting to get that off my chest for months, and now that I've said it, I'm tired. I just want to curl up in bed and let Jax whisper praises in my ear, erasing every horrible thing Steve has ever made me think about myself.
I walk to the front door and open it, then turn to face him again to deliver my last message. "We are never getting back together, Steve. You and I are never going to talk or see each other again. So get out and erase my number from your phone, because this is the end for us. Nothing you can say or do is going to change that."