Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(52)

But I can deal with the hallucination version, because he won’t break my heart. The real deal is far messier.

“Denver, I can’t…” When his face falls, I add, “I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression by asking for a ride. I really missed having you as a friend, but I’m not the kind of girl who has casual flings.”

Five seconds of dishonesty.

Casual is all I’ve been for the past decade. But staring at him here, with the setting sun illuminating the gold streaks in his eyes, I know I can’t do that with him, as much as I’d like to. The lovelorn piece of me can’t handle it.

Then his downtrodden expression turns into a dimpled smile. “You think that’s what I want?”

“I mean…yeah. It’s what you do, right?” I throw my hands up. “It’s a small town, and for some ungodly reason, people thought I should hear about every girl you slept with while I was away. It was a lot.”

Both a lot, in terms of numbers, and a lot, in terms of the effects every story had on my mental health.

“So when you mentioned me doing things to women, you weren’t talking about the murders? Good, good.”

“Denver, please.” I roll my eyes.

“They usually beg for their lives more convincingly than that.”

Typical. Change the subject by turning this whole thing into a joke the exact moment I try to get serious.

“Okay, I’m not having this conversation with you then. Forget I said it, and take me home.”

“Sorry, I’ll quit fucking around.” He drags a slow hand down his face with a groan. “I really hate this place sometimes, ya know?”

“Same.”

“I didn’t know things would get back to you…. I also didn’t think you’d care, if I’m being honest. You actively avoided me when you came to visit—people told me things too, Blair. I know you did everything you could to avoid seeing me. Then you didn’t move back after graduation like you said you would.”

“Why would I move back? For what? You were the only reason I ever planned to, and you’d moved on.” A tremor racks my body, and I chew my bottom lip to keep from crying while I frantically turn away from him. My calf smacks into the tailgate when I swing my legs down and a curse slips out under my breath. My eyes flit from treetop to treetop, intentionally avoiding looking anywhere in his direction.

The fucker notices, too, because the truck rocks with the movement of his weight, and he jumps off. Then he’s standing in front of me, caramel and chocolate eyes studying every movement in my face.

“There’s no moving on from you. Not then, now, ever.”

I scoff. “Now I’m calling bullshit. All the other girls—”

“Weren’t anything serious. You were my first love, and you’ll be my last. I’m done. I found the girl when I was thirteen, and I haven’t been serious about anyone since. I’m not looking for a quick fuck with you, Blair. The younger me messed up, but I would never do something to intentionally hurt you.”

“The fucking audacity,” I mutter under my breath. Wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, except he has time and time again, whether he knows it or not.

“What?”

“Oh, just wondering to myself how you can sit here and say that, when you know people have told me things. Things that make your last sentence complete and utter bullshit. Because you’ve already done shit to intentionally hurt me.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re—”

“Shelby!” I yell. My friend’s name rattles down the valley to town, repeating in a cacophony of echoes to haunt me. The pain of hearing it repeatedly is almost worth it, because Denver looks like he’s ready to throw himself off the cliff. And, even though I know I would jump immediately after him, a part of me wants the satisfaction of his cries reverberating in the canyon.

“What the fuck about Shelby? You thought that wouldn’t hurt me?” I’m breathing fire, and still he doesn’t back away. “You thought I wouldn’t care about that? Guess what, Denver. I fucking cared.”

“I can explain.”

I tilt my head, waiting to hear what garbage he spews before I fully unleash every emotion I’ve bottled up over the years. Ready to drop the act, lose the smile I’ve worn while listening to people talk about my ex like his behavior should be a funny joke to me.

“Well, the explanation is shit. But, honestly, I didn’t think you were ever coming back. You were gone fourteen years. A full fucking decade of sleepless nights, of drunk phone calls from any number but mine so I could hear your sleepy voice, of driving up here on the hard days so I could scream at the top of my lungs.” He rubs quickly at his eyes, and when his hands fall on top of mine, I don’t pull away. I remember the calls in the middle of the night with nobody on the other end of the phone—in fact, I eventually changed my number, paranoid I had a stalker. The calls stopped after that, of course. Now knowing it was him, the knot in my stomach cinches tighter.

His thumb rubs across the back of my hand. “Shelby and I never had sex, for the record. Just drinking, dancing, kissing. And I know that’s still not right. I shouldn’t have slept with anyone, or even fucking looked at anyone. If there was a single shred of hope left in me that you’d come back, I would’ve held out for as long as I needed to.”