Our relationship could be enemies-to-lovers, but it’s always heavy on the enemies and light on the lovers.
“I texted you the night you won the Honors award,” I tell him, my voice staying nice and even. “It was a couple of hours before the show went on air. I just got home, and I got Dad settled inside, and I came out here and had a breakdown.”
He bites his lip.
“And that was it. You walked off the boat on the Fourth before that without saying goodbye, and then you blew off my text. I decided that night I would never give you that kind of access to me again.”
The truth hangs in the air. The tension is thick. We stare at each other like two adversaries pulled together with strings.
I wish I could run into his arms and nestle my face against his chest.
But I can’t.
And I don’t.
Coy forces a swallow. “The day of the Honors awards, I didn’t have my phone all day. And when I got it back that night, it was so blown up that I didn’t even try to go through it. Everyone that ever had my number sent me texts, calls, direct messages. It was insane.” He grips the back of a chair. “I got a sponsorship the next day from a different service provider anyway, so I just used the new number. I never sorted through that barrage of messages.”
I consider this. It might be true. It could be true. I remember Boone telling me about a new number shortly after that, but I didn’t save it. I was too hurt. And when Coy called me a couple of weeks later, it was from an unusual number.
But still …
His gaze pins me in place. “And for the record, I walked off that Fourth of July because you wanted me to.”
“What?”
“I tried to tell you I wanted …” He closes his eyes. “I held you that night and told you that I’d always be there. I told you to tell me if you needed me, and you rolled over and went to sleep.”
“Because I knew you would leave anyway.”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“Why would I, Coy? I’d given you everything I had to give, and it wasn’t enough to keep your interest.”
He shoves off the chair, sending it rattling against the table. He looks at me with fire in his eyes. “What’s that mean?”
My cheeks heat with a mixture of embarrassment and fury. I don’t want to do this, but I might as well get it over with.
What else do I have to lose?
“That means I gave you everything,” I say slowly. “My first kiss. My virginity,” I say, ignoring the shock on Coy’s face. “My heart on that boat and my vulnerability when I needed someone and dared to ask for help.”
He pulls his hands over his face.
Emboldened by my declaration and freed from the weight of the truth, my entire being feels lighter. I keep going because I’m too tired to care. I continue because it’ll be one war that I can end tonight and then move on from.
I suck in a breath as his eyes find mine again.
“I used to name all of my boy dolls after you,” I tell him. “I had a journal when I was eight, and I would practice writing Bellamy Mason in it every day, over and over.”
I close my eyes and let my anxiety settle.
“The older we got, the more I realized that you and I would never be a thing. That giving you my virginity wasn’t enough to keep your eyes on me. That I was just another girl—maybe less.”
“Bellamy, that’s not true. I had no idea …”
“Then you weren’t paying attention.” I shrug. “And, yes, on the boat that Fourth of July, I did pull away because I saw the writing on the wall. Your phone was going off the entire night, and I knew I couldn’t compete with whatever Nashville had to offer you. So, I took what I could and knew that would be the end of it. And that’s okay. I made that choice.”
And I think I’ve hated you for that choice ever since. Because it really wasn’t a choice. It was a necessity.
He forces a swallow. “I can’t say I would’ve stayed if that’s what you would’ve wanted. Actually, I know I would’ve gone anyway. But things could’ve been different.”
I shake my head. “No. They are the way they are because that’s how it’s meant to be. I’m just a silly girl who’s always been in …”
I catch myself a moment too late.
Words topple out of my mouth—a nonsensical string of phrases that only exist to deflect from the singular phrase I let slip far enough to out myself.
It’s one thing I should’ve kept tight to my chest.
Coy stalks around the table, his eyes dark and hooded. There’s a fire in them that I haven’t seen since the night on the boat when he took my hand and led me upstairs.