“Bells?”
I whirl around at the sound of his voice.
Coy is standing only a few away from me. His hair is messy, and his eyes full of an emotion I can’t name.
He peers at me. “What’s going on?”
I wipe at my eyes again and hope that my face isn’t as smudged as my hand. “Nothing,” I say, sniffling. “What are you doing here?”
“I came by to see your dad.” He takes a step closer. “Talk to me, Bells. Why are you crying?”
“I’m not,” I say automatically, even though it’s evident that I am.
He gives me a stern look.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “Just go home, please.”
There’s a war brewing in his beautiful eyes. It’s a battle I can’t watch. I don’t know what it means, and I don’t have the energy to figure it out.
I turn away.
“Dammit, Bellamy,” he says, the edges of his words rough. “I’m sick of this.”
“It’s a good thing you can just walk away then.”
He grabs my elbow and spins me to face him. When our eyes meet, his narrow. I narrow mine right back.
My heart is tender from our kiss earlier, and it’s broken from trying to read my dad’s doctor’s reports that I have to send to his insurance company. It’s all too much for one day.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“What am I doing, Coy?”
“Shutting me out.”
I want to ask him why it matters.
What good would it possibly do to bring him into the trenches of my life? So he can pretend he cares? So he can feel like he did something before he leaves again?
Nah, I’m good.
“Shutting you out would infer that you were ever inside,” I say, turning away from him again.
“Really?”
His tone—accusatory and sarcastic—is precisely what I don’t need right now.
“Yes, really,” I say, giving him a dirty look. “Thank you for coming by to see Dad. I’m sure it means a lot to him. I—”
“Stop it, Bellamy.”
“Stop what?” I whip around to face him. “Why don’t you stop it, Coy?”
His eyes grow wide. “I’m just asking you what’s wrong. What the fuck?”
“No, what you’re doing is waltzing in my life like it’s your stomping ground,” I tell him, my finger wagging in the air between us. “You just come in with some kind of bravado like I should be grateful you’re here. I’m not. Okay? I’m fine.”
He has the audacity to look bewildered. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
A light flips on in the back of my house. It’s Dad’s bathroom.
I drag my attention back to Coy. “I’m not doing this with you.”
“Yes, you fucking are.”
“No, I’m not.”
I march toward my house. It takes everything I have to sniffle back another round of tears as my emotions well up inside me.
Why does this have to be more challenging? Why did he have to show up here and spark all of these feelings that I had successfully put to bed?
Why did I have to go over there? Why did he have to kiss me?
Why does he keep pushing and probing like this matters to him beyond tonight?
He needs to go back to Nashville and back to his life with people who are as superficial as him.
And stay away from my dad.
I know that’s not fair because Dad probably loved seeing him. A small part of me loved seeing Coy walk over to the house tonight too. But I’d love it a lot more if I thought he’d remember a week from now.
I blink rapidly as I shove my door open. I swing it shut behind me, but it stops … on Coy’s hand.
“Please just go,” I tell him as I square my shoulders with his. “I don’t have it in me to fight with you tonight.”
“I don’t wanna fight with you.”
“Well, I wanna fight with you. I just can’t manage it right now.”
My bottom lip quivers.
The truth is, I don’t want to fight with him either. I’d give anything if I could fall into his arms and pour my heart out in a way I can’t do with anyone.
But I can’t do that with him either. Because if I do, it’ll be that much more bullshit to deal with later. And my limit on bullshit to deal with has been exceeded.
Coy’s features soften. He looks as vulnerable as I feel, and that makes me want to cry.
And that pisses me off.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Joe was this sick?” he asks.
My grin is angry. “Look, Coy, I’m not going to beg you to care.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? That you’re not going to beg me to care? You didn’t give me a chance to care.”
“Yes, I did, and you blew me off—”
“What?”
His feigned innocence infuriates me.
“Yeah. Please excuse me for not wanting to talk about this because you feel compelled to express your emotions. I have to live with them every day.”