Page 22 of Heartstring

“Of course.” He touches my arm, and I flinch because I’m a jittery mess.

“I’m sorry, Ellis. I’m…I just need to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Remember what I said.”

I catch his words as I practically bolt through the kitchen doors at the back. When I open the door to my van, I remember the baskets with the extra rolls I should have unloaded earlier.

“Fuck.” I can’t take the van. “Shit.”

I run back inside to drop the keys on the counter and grab my coat before heading out again.

The rain has gotten worse, but it won’t be the first time I’ve walked home in the rain when my temperamental van left me stranded.

“Ty, wait up.”

Mik’s voice calling my name only spurs me to speed up my steps. I’m sure Mr. Rock Star won’t want to get his hair wet, so he’ll turn around eventually.

“Just fucking stop.” He grabs my arm and turns me around.

I’ve only made it as far as the kids’ playground. The playground his father purchased in my name.

“I don’t know what you want, but I need to go.” I try to move again, but his grip on my arm tightens. The rain is starting to soak through my coat, making me shiver. Or it could be his presence. It’s hard to tell.

“Where do you need to go in the rain?” he asks, practically shouting.

“Away from you,” I shout back.

“Why?”

“Because it’s how it has to be.” I run my hands through my soaked hair. “I don’t know why you’re in Stillwater, but you need to leave.”

“Why? You’re the boss of this town now?”

Ugh. I want to squeeze his neck until his blue eyes pop out.

“Yes. Let me go.” I pull my arm and nearly fall on my ass when he lets me go.

“I’d forgotten how feisty you are when you’re angry,” he says.

“Well, I haven’t forgotten…anything.”

His eyes suddenly go darker, and he’s closer.

“You haven’t?”

I narrow my brows but don’t reply. Instead, I stare at his perfectly chiseled face, which is older now, of course, but no less striking. He’s let his beard grow, and I’m not sure it suits him.

Even in the rain, I can smell his cologne. It’s a scent I wouldn’t associate with him. Fresh, citrusy cotton. He never wore anything before, reminding me that he’s changed.

It’s been twenty-five years and a lot of hurt. Just because my dick is stirring in my jeans and he smells nice doesn’t mean anything. My brain is just confused.

“Do you remember what happened when we were caught in the rain that day after the summer festival?”

“No.”Yes.

He tilts his head. “I think you’re lying.”

“Why would I lie?”