When he sees the tears welling in my eyes, he tries to steal his phone back. “That’s enough.”
I hold the phone tightly against my chest to stop him. I need to hear the rest. Plus, there’s no way it gets worse than this, right?
Wrong.
When she tries to force herself on Haze, my breakfast threatens to make an appearance. I’m glad he rejects her, but I don’t even have time to properly enjoy how amazing Haze is, because she says that she’s been cheating on my dad the next second.
Only then does Haze successfully snatch the phone away from me and end the recording. I don’t fight him further. Truth be told, I don’t know how much more I could’ve handled.
It just kept getting worse.
Next, she would’ve come out as a serial killer, I’m sure.
He shoves the phone back into his pocket as I stare vacantly ahead of me with dried tears marking my skin.
“I’m so sorry. Please say something.” He unbuckles his seat belt. No word seems appropriate or strong enough for this moment.
“Thank you for showing it to me,” I whisper and get out of the car. Haze mimics my actions. I walk to the driver’s side to meet him. It’s cold as shit outside.
“What do you want to do from here?” He lifts his arm and rubs a tear off my cheek with his thumb. When his piercing blue eyes capture mine, my priorities change. They cluster around what matters: him. Everything falls into place. There is one thing I can conclude from the recording. My mother is an asshole, plain and simple.
But you know who’s not an asshole?
Haze.
He’s the least asshole person around. He made mistakes. He fucked up time and time again. But at the end of the day, his heart’s in the right place. His question ricochets through my brain.
What do you want to do from here?
The answer is clear.
“I want to kiss you.”
So, I do.
I grab the collar of his coat, push to my tiptoes, and press my lips to his before he can get a word in. In disbelief, he kisses me back, hauling me closer to him until the cold tips of our noses touch. I can practically hear my heart reconstructing itself as we sway from side to side, back and forth. To say it requires self-control to stop kissing him would be an understatement, but when I do finally free his lips, he shakes his head in disapproval and pulls me back in for more.
After a couple of minutes, we’re forced to let go. I press my forehead to his. Both our faces are freezing to the point of pain—Canada is fun—but I couldn’t care less.
“If I’d known all I had to do was ask you what you wanted,” he breathes out, and I laugh.
An alarm goes off on my phone.
It’s time to go visit my dad.
“Crap.” I stand back. “I have to go. Visiting hours with Jay.”
“Do you need a ride?” he offers.
“No, Kendrick’s driving us.” I jolt around, but he circles my wrist.
“Wait.”
I look at him.
“I thought maybe I would go pick up my clothes at Vic’s and come back to the apartment… if that’s okay with you.”
I know he’s asking me way more than if he can move back in. He’s asking me if we’re back together.