Nothing.
Her lips remained tightly shut.
Not that I blamed her.
I kept at it a few seconds more until she finally pushed at my chest, breaking my grip. “Stop this!”
“I…can’t.”
“What is it, Bryce? What do you want? Because you can’t have it both ways.”
“I…”
“Spit it out, for God’s sake. You push me away, say I mean nothing to you, that nothing happened between us, and then…we run into each other and you can’t keep your hands off me? It’s not fair, damn it. It’s not fucking fair.”
She was right, of course. None of this was fair.
“If things were different…”
“If things were different…what?” she asked. “We’d be together? You’d want me in your life?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she continued speaking.
“We are all going through this. All of us. Not just you. You’re not even going through the worst of it.”
“Marj—”
“Shut up! Just shut up. I’m not done yet. For once, I’m going to have my say, even if it’s in the middle of town with everyone listening.”
I scanned the area. Passersby looked our way.
“Can we go somewhere else?”
“Everyone knows, Bryce. There are no more secrets. They all know who your father was. Keeping quiet about it won’t change it.”
“But my mom…”
She closed her mouth. It was a cheap shot, but it worked. This affected my mother just as much as it affected anyone else. She was an older woman who didn’t deserve any gossip—no more than she’d already put up with, anyway.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“We can go somewhere else. You can keep yelling.”
“Where? Where the hell do you think we can go? You don’t want me at your house, and you won’t come to mine. Where, Bryce?”
I eyed the Snow Creek Hotel across the street. “There.” I pointed.
“Sure, that’ll work. Bertie’s at the desk, and of course she won’t tell anyone that Bryce Simpson and Marjorie Steel went into the hotel together.”
She had a point, but I no longer cared. I grabbed her arm and walked with her across the street to the hotel. I didn’t have money to spend on a hotel room, but I would in two weeks. Until then, I had a credit card. I pulled it out of my wallet and laid it on the desk in front of the middle-aged blond woman. “A room please, Bertie.”
“Sorry, Bryce. We’re booked.”
“Why isn’t the no-vacancy sign on then?”
“It’s burned out.”
“Of all the— Fine.” I grabbed Marjorie’s arm and walked her out of the hotel. “So much for that.”