“What is it?” she asked, circling the thick, heavy silver hoop round and round on her finger. He knew the instant she recognized it and flushed when she lifted her shocked gaze to his.
“It’s an earring. My earring.” He’d had it welded shut and smoothed out so that the little hinge closure would no longer open—it was practically seamless now. But yes, it was her earring. And he’d been wearing it like a sentimental fool for more than ten years. He didn’t even know why. He should have returned it to her. Or thrown it out . . . but he’d found it in his bed the day after that awful night and couldn’t bring himself to part with it.
Her initials were engraved on the inside . . . another reason he should have returned it to her, and yet it had felt like an even better reason to keep it.
“What is this?” she asked in horror. “Some kind of trophy? A reminder of your conquest?”
Goddamnit! Of course she would think that.
“Nah, I have bedposts to notch for that,” he retorted scathingly, getting off the bed and dragging his jeans up, buttoning and belting efficiently before angrily straightening his T-shirt and—keeping his eyes focused on hers—deliberately, and somewhat defiantly, dropping his pendant down the neck of his shirt again.
“Give it to me,” she demanded, leaping from the bed and holding her hand out.
“No. It’s mine.”
“It’s not yours. Oh my God. It has my initials engraved into it. It’s mine and I want it back.”
“Do you still have the other one?”
“What does that matter? You can’t have it.”
“Jesus, this is fucking childish!”
“You stole it!”
“You lost it!”
“It wasn’t lost. You’ve had it all this time. That’s theft.”
“Why do you want it?”
“What does that matter?”
“Why?”
“Why?” she repeated furiously, folding her arms over her chest and looking more pissed off than Harris had ever seen her before. “Why? So that you can’t have it! That’s why.”
The words stung. Well, not the words, but the absolute loathing behind them. It more than stung—it burned. Like acid. He swallowed and tried to formulate a response, but she wasn’t quite done scalding him with her vitriol yet.
“You don’t get to have a fond keepsake of the worst night of my life, Harris. You just don’t!” Her face was red with anger, her hair bristling like a fiery halo around her head. She looked fierce, furious, and completely devastated, and Harris had no defense against that.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before tugging the pendant out and yanking it up over his head. Two steps between them, but it felt like a thousand miles as he crossed the distance. He dropped the pendant into her waiting hand and gently folded her fingers around it.
He lifted her hand and kissed her closed fist before brushing past her and leaving the room.
Tina’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt a lump form and solidify there, making it painful to swallow. Her fist was clenched around the silver hoop, which still retained his body heat. Why had he kept this? All these years he had been wearing it around his neck, close to his heart. She didn’t understand. Was it a trophy? Somehow she doubted that; maybe she would have thought that before, but those kinds of accusations no longer rang true after the last few days spent in his company. Harris simply wasn’t the cold and callous man she had once believed him to be.
He was caring, considerate, and genuinely interested in her well-being. He had stood up for her against her brother, one of his best friends. She liked spending time with him, and she felt certain that he felt the same way.
Her gaze moved unseeingly around the stark bedroom. He had left the comforts of his lush lifestyle to come to this town and live in this awful house to provide support for his friend as well as keep a concerned eye on the brother who had slighted him so terribly. A callous man would not do that. She unclenched her fingers and stared down at her earring . . . Harris’s pendant. Slightly larger than a woman’s wedding ring, it could no longer function as an earring. Not with the hinge welded shut. The hoop was completely smooth on the outside with only the curlicued MJ on the inside. He had looped a simple leather strap through it. Anyone looking at it would have no idea that it had once been an earring.
She sighed, her heart like lead in her chest, and dropped the pendant on the bedside table.
She exited the room and carefully shut the door behind her.
“What the hell is going on?”
The deep voice made her jump, and she turned to face Greyson, who was seated on the threadbare sofa with a thick book facedown on his chest.