Jesus, Sydney.
I hear the water turn off and the shower curtain slide open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying once again not to picture him. This would probably be a good time of day to turn on some music to drown out my thoughts.
As soon as the door closes between the bathroom and his bedroom, there’s a knock at the front door. I gladly jump off the bed and head toward the living room to get my mind off the fact that I know Ridge is in his room getting dressed right now.
I don’t even bother looking through the peephole, which is a very bad oversight on my part. I swing open the door to find Hunter standing sheepishly at the top of the stairs. He eyes me, his expression apologetic and nervous. My heart drops to my stomach at the mere sight of him. It’s been weeks since I last laid eyes on him. I was beginning to forget what he looked like.
His dark hair is longer since I last saw him, and it reminds me that I’m always the one to schedule his hair appointments. The fact that he hasn’t even bothered to make his own appointment makes him that much more pathetic to me.
“Should I give Tori the number for your barber? Your hair looks awful.”
The mention of Tori’s name makes him grimace. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m not jumping back into his arms that’s causing that regretful expression on his face.
“You look good,” he says, capping his words off with a smile.
“I am good,” I say, not sure if I’m lying to him or not.
He runs a free hand over his jaw and turns away from me, appearing to regret the fact that he’s here.
How is he here? How does he even know where I live?
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask, tilting my head in curiosity.
I see the split-second shift of his eyes as they glance across the courtyard toward Tori’s apartment. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me to notice what’s going on in his mind, because it would only shed light on the fact that he’s still visiting Tori on a regular basis.
“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice void of the confidence I’ve always known him to have.
“If I let you in and convince you it’s over, will you promise to stop texting me?”
He barely nods his head, so I step aside, and he walks into the living room. I walk to the dining-room table and pull out a chair, making it obvious that he’s not making himself comfortable by sitting on the couch. He walks toward the table as his eyes work their way around the room, more than likely in search of information on who lives here with me.
He grips the back of the chair and pulls it out slowly while his eyes focus on a pair of Ridge’s shoes tucked beside the couch. I like that he noticed them.
“Are you living here now?” he asks, his voice tight and controlled.
“For now,” I say, my voice even more controlled. I’m proud of myself for keeping calm, because I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt to see him. I gave him two years of my life, and all the things I felt for him can’t just be cut off at once. Feelings take time to disappear, so they’re still here. They’re just mixed and swirled together with a hell of a lot of hatred now. It’s confusing to feel this way when I see him, because I never thought I could dislike the man in front of me. I never thought he would betray me the way he did.
“Do you think that’s safe? Just moving in with some strange guy you barely know?” He’s eyeing me disapprovingly as he takes his seat, as if he has the right to judge any part of my life.
“You and Tori didn’t leave me much choice, did you? I found myself screwed over and homeless on my birthday. If anything, I would think you should be congratulating me for handling it all so well. You sure as hell can’t sit here and judge me.”
He huffs, then leans forward over the table and closes his eyes, pressing the palms of his hands against his forehead. “Sydney, please. I didn’t come here to fight or make excuses. I came here to tell you how sorry I am.”