My shoes clatter against the linoleum as I walk down the empty hall. My heartbeat picks up as I nearly run to the front door.
“Haley!” Grayson calls out to me.
I don’t turn back.
I have nothing to say to you.
“Haley! Dammit. Stop,” he says.
I get to the door that opens into the waiting area. I want to charge through the lobby and race to my car and never set foot in here again. But, even if I manage that, we’re going to come face-to-face somewhere at some point—likely Fireside when I’m working.
I’d rather not have this conversation there.
“Haley!”
My feet falter, but I come to a stop a few steps before the door. My hackles are raised. My gut’s clenched in preparation to fight or flee, and I do my best to keep my head clear as he approaches.
“What do you want?” I ask him, my voice cut and dried.
He stops a few feet in front of me and peers down. The flecks of blue I know to look for in his eyes are there—all soft and brilliant at the same time.
“I don’t have a lot of time …” I shrug. “What’s up?”
He opens his mouth and then closes it.
I get antsy, my weight swaying from side to side. I don’t want to stand here in front of him as if I expect him to apologize or make me some offer he thinks that I think should be expected.
“Grayson, look—”
“I know you’re pissed.”
I quirk a brow, but I don’t disagree.
He wipes a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean for all of this to happen.”
“You know what? I believe that.” I lift my chin. “I don’t think you meant for any of this to happen.”
His features soften. “You don’t?”
I shake my head. “I was really pissed at you last night. I’m always pissed when someone makes me cry.”
His lips part, but I don’t give him the chance to speak.
“But that’s on me,” I say quickly. “I’m the one who let my emotions come into the mix. You didn’t promise me anything. You even told me exactly why I shouldn’t expect or hope for anything to come from what happened. And I was the idiot who did it anyway.”
He lowers his gaze to the floor.
“Because I did. And I’m going to tell you that because I’m not a liar and I don’t play games,” I say, my voice staying firm and clear. “I’m not going to tell you that I didn’t hope something might spark between us, and I’m not going to tell you that it didn’t hurt last night when you walked out. But I’ll own both of those things.”
“Maybe—”
“No.” I shake my head fervently. “No maybes. No … anythings.”
He lifts his eyes to meet mine.
Something is swimming in those steely grays that pokes at my heart. There’s a hint of feeling, of emotion—an emotion that wasn’t there last night—I could pick out and analyze if I wanted to.
But I don’t.
Because it’s pointless.
I sigh. “I’m sorry for making you feel any sort of way because—”
“Don’t fucking apologize to me.”
“Okay.”
He blows out a hasty breath. “I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t even have fucking met you out there.”
Although I suspected—I knew—he felt that way, hearing it come so matter-of-factly out of his mouth is like a spear to my heart.
“I was a more than willing participant,” I say, my voice wavering slightly. “But it’s done and over, and now we’re going to move on, and it’s going to be fine. You can come to Fireside and have your beer, and I’ll … I’ll do and say whatever it was that I did and said before this mess.”
He reaches for me, and I take a step back. He seems to reconsider and drops his hand.
Tears reach my eyes, and I blink rapidly.
“I’m going to meet the hero of my life. And you can keep allocating your resources the way you want to.” I try to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. “I have to go.”
My back hits the door, and I fumble behind me for the knob. The metal is cool in my hand as I grab it and turn.
“Haley,” he says abruptly.
I hold the door part way open. “What?”
“Are you going out with that guy from the bar tonight?”
I take him in—his wild, beautiful, broody features. His icy eyes. His messy hair. His sturdy, taut shoulders. They’ll never be mine. Even though I want that, so much, it’s better this way.
He’ll never be mine.
“I gotta go,” I say.
I pivot so fast that I nearly run into Grant Blake as I head for my car.
Twelve
Grayson
“Pick up for Blake.” I ignore the way the little Richards girl—Anna, I think her name is—looks at me from the other side of the drive-up window. “It was a large loaded pizza.”
“I know.” She grins and leans against the wall. “What are you doing tonight?”