As I storm across the lawn and drag her with me, I slowly begin to realize I’m angry as hell but I don’t have a right to be. My body’s responding like I caught Alyssa doing something wrong, but all she’s doing is exactly what I told her to do—moving on with her life.
I don’t know why it feels so much like betrayal. Maybe because I damn sure haven’t done the same. Maybe because it feels like verification of fears I had while she was with me, how easily she can give her heart away. My heart’s not like that. It’s a dead weight in my chest, and once it catches someone beneath it, it never lets go.
She gave up on me, and some selfish part of me didn’t want her to.
I don’t know where I’m going until I get there. Alyssa doesn’t question me, even though she’s pissy as hell. We finally stop walking in the dirt and gravel parking lot, right beside my truck. I let go of her arm and turn to face her.
Alyssa glares at me, then rubs her arm like I hurt her. “What do you want, Brant?” she asks tiredly.
I want to tell her I look at her picture every night before I go to bed. I want to tell her she’s right and I am an asshole, but she shouldn’t have listened to me because I want her in my bed every night, even if it’s a million kinds of wrong.
When I open my mouth, all I manage is a low, aggravated, “You deserve better than him.”
Alyssa sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking at me like, for once, she’s not buying my bullshit. “You can’t keep doing this to me. It’s not fair. Either be in my life or stay out of it, but you don’t get to come and go as you please.”
I’m glad to hear her standing up for herself. I’m sorry I’m the one she has to stand up to. “You’re right,” I admit, bowing my head slightly. “I’m sorry.”
We stand there for a moment in the silence, the faint sounds of the carnival merriment serving as sufficient background noise so it doesn’t turn awkward. Not that the silence ever turns awkward with her.
I don’t know what to say to her. I am behaving like a jealous asshole, because I am jealous. I miss her. I’m flooded with thoughts and feelings, I just don’t know how to put them into words, especially with all I know is still in the way.
Just because I feel a certain way doesn’t mean anything has changed, but damn if I don’t still feel it.
“You’re better at moving on than I am,” I finally say, glancing up at her.
Some of her impatience melts away and she lowers her arms just a little, along with her defenses. Not entirely, since she can’t be sure I won’t still attack her, but a little, because she senses some vulnerability in me. “What do you mean?”
“I hold onto things,” I say simply. “You let go. Your way’s healthier, I’m just…I can’t relate, and it makes me angry. It makes me feel… insignificant to you.”
She inhales sharply when I say that, then drops her arms completely and closes the distance between us, grabbing my shoulders and looking up at me. “How can you say that?” she demands. “How can you think it?”
“You’re here with someone else, like we never even…”
Staring up at me, Alyssa reminds me, “I tried everything to be with you, Brant. I was willing to bend over backwards for you, and you told me I’d make some man very happy someday, but not you—never you. What was I supposed to do after that? Where was I supposed to go from there, if not on to someone new?”
“You said you don’t even like to date that much,” I remind her.
“I don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” I tell her, jabbing a finger in the direction of the fairgrounds. “That’s why you don’t see me here with some random woman, but you’re certainly not here alone.”
Shrugging, she says, “I met a guy I thought I could like. What do you want me to say? You made it crystal clear you didn’t want me. I don’t know why you’re so mad. I don’t know why you get so jealous over someone you don’t even want.”
Her words piss me off, but what pisses me off more is that they’re a result of the way I’ve treated her. She’s not saying it to be spiteful; she really believes that.
Reaching out and sliding my fingers along her jaw, I cup her face in my hand, even though I know it’s a bad idea. “I do want you, Alyssa.”
Her blue-green eyes sparkle, but with something closer to sadness than any kind of joy. “You have a funny way of showing it.”