Page 9

Hallie

It’s close to two a.m. by the time I pull up to Wren’s house.

My house. The house I’m living in right now.

I don’t know how best to refer to it. It’s temporary, so it doesn’t feel right to call it home, but it’s also the place I’m sleeping and where all my belongings currently reside.

I pull my car close to the curb, parking on the street instead of the driveway. The only time I’ve parked in the driveway was the night I moved in and had boxes to unload. I know the car has some kind of leak and after all the work we did on the house to make it ready to put it on the market soon, I’m not going to decrease its value by leaving oil stains on the concrete from my shitty car.

Cutting the engine, I sit, unable to find the willpower to get myself inside the house. The soles of my feet feel like they have their own heartbeats, thanks to a long night behind the bar, and the idea of getting back on them to walk inside feels impossible.

Tonight’s shift was rough. I got stiffed more times than I could count, someone walked out on their tab without paying, and I had a drink spilled down my shirt. And that all happened after that scary phone call from Luke regarding my dad and the shit show of a meeting with Rio.

Initially, I texted my boss and told him I was going to be late, but when the design meeting became too much, I hightailed my way to the bar. I made shit money tonight, but it’s more than I started the day with, so it’s something, I guess.

The two a.m. silence is nice. Calming and welcomed after a long shift in a loud bar followed by an equally loud drive thanks to my rattling engine. I don’t want to move. I want to sleep right here, wearing my beer-scented clothes and god-awful nonslip shoes.

I lay my head back, about to close my eyes, when a figure catches my attention out of my periphery. It’s the middle of the night so I should probably have some sense of fear, but I’m not scared in the slightest. I’d recognize him anywhere.

Rio is sitting on his front steps, elbows leaning on his knees and hands laced together when he looks up and over in my direction. It’s not a quick glance, but a lingering stare, letting me know that the reason he’s on his front steps is because he’s waiting for me.

My stomach instantly fills with dread. I thought I’d have more time until I had to face him. I’m not ready to do this again, especially at two in the morning.

Sure, me running out of our meeting was a tad dramatic, but it was the compilation of everything. Seeing him again. Living next door. Him asking about my brother and telling me I look good.

Seriously, what the fuck was that?

Then immediately, he tried to be a jerk as if he realized he was being too kind.

Don’t get me wrong, Rio could’ve said a lot worse, but the guy doesn’t have a naturally mean bone in his body. So, I guess it was the realization that he feels he has to be shitty towards me, as if that’s what I deserve from him now, that hurts the worst.

I’m trying to move forward, attempt some sort of working relationship, but he kept bringing up the past—a past in which he obliterated my heart and left me to figure out life without him.

My attention finds him again when he pushes off the steps, and with his hands tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, he starts in my direction, crossing the lawn that connects our two houses.

It’s chilly out, but he looks obnoxiously comfortable in those black sweatpants and his team-issued hoodie. His curls are a bit frizzy, as if he took a shower and didn’t put any product in his hair after, but his eyes look heavy with the need for sleep.

I’m not surprised that he’s awake at this hour, though. I remember him being a ball of energy at times and that’s without drinking caffeine, but his brain doesn’t always understand when it’s time to wind down. Rio has never been a great sleeper. I found him in the middle of the night, sitting on the roof between our childhood bedrooms enough times to prove that.

Well, that is until my thirteenth birthday when he fell asleep on my bedroom floor as we listened to music, and he realized he could sleep just fine there. I started keeping my window unlocked after that, and he started sneaking in to sleep on the ground by my bed when he couldn’t find rest on his own.

God, the nostalgia is making me sick. Today’s meeting only made me miss him. The old him. But he made it perfectly clear that version no longer exists.

Before Rio fully crosses the lawn to me, I stuff my serving apron in my tote bag, including my cash tips, before finding the strength to get out of the car and meet him on the driveway.

“Hey,” he says, his voice tired, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the late hour or if he’s been stressed about how our meeting ended.

I stop about two feet away from him, arms crossed around my middle. “Hey.”

His eyes trail up and down my body, looking at my clothes and clearly trying to figure out where I’ve been. I’m not stupid. I know he assumed I had a date tonight, but I’m also not going to correct him. The man is a professional hockey player, loves his mom, and looks like that . I’m not na?ve enough to think other women don’t see what I always did, nor am I going to try to convince myself that he’s not actively dating. So even though I’m not, he doesn’t need that clarification.

“Are you okay?” His tone is gentle.

I nod. “Are you?”

“Yeah. No.” He hesitates. “I don’t know. We need to talk about earlier—”

“I don’t want to argue right now, Rio.” I take a step by him, heading for the front door. “It’s been a long day. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not here to argue.” He wraps a hand around my bicep to stop me, but it’s gentle, light enough that it wouldn’t actually hold me back if I wanted to keep going. “I’m here to apologize.”

I follow his hand, up to his face, to find green eyes pleading for me to hear him out.

“I’m sorry about today. I... I have no idea how to be around you anymore, Hallie.” He rubs that same hand against the back of his neck. “I know I made things weird, asking about Luke. The thing with the heart. I’ve only ever been one way with you, and now I’m having to constantly remind myself that we aren’t those people anymore.”

It’s strange. I’ve known that for a long time now. I’ve known that any kind of cordial, working relationship we might be able to form, any kind of tolerance for one another, will never come close to the way we used to be together. But still, it doesn’t feel great to hear that confirmed from the other party involved.

He’s quiet for a moment before he admits, “I don’t know how to treat you anymore.”

“I don’t either.”

“So much has happened between us and when I’m around you, I can’t help but bring it up. I haven’t once mentioned you or anything about us growing up in Boston together since moving here, and suddenly you’re in my life again and it’s the only thing on my mind.”

Well... ouch.

He must notice me wince.

“Fuck, not like that.” He takes a step towards me, hands held out before he, once again, slips them into his pockets. “Well, no. It’s exactly like that, I guess.” His expression is apologetic. “What I’m saying is that for so long, I tried to pretend as if we didn’t happen because it hurt to think about you. It hurt to talk about you. And now, I can’t stop thinking or talking about the past because you’re here and it feels nostalgic.” He closes his eyes briefly, pausing his rambling for a second. “I’m still mad at you, Hallie, but I also don’t want to spend the next however many months trying to be a dick to you. It doesn’t feel right.”

That, surprisingly, makes my lips twitch with a grin.

He narrows his gaze at me, but I watch the smile start to stretch on his own mouth. “Don’t laugh at me, Hal.”

“I knew you were trying your hardest to be mean.” I chuckle. “It needs some work, by the way. You trying to be a dick. Lacks consistency.”

That boyish smile turns up on the corners of his lips. “I know.”

It feels like it’s my turn to be honest.

“I’m not used to being around you and us not getting along,” I tell him. “It’s throwing me off balance, trying to figure out how this is going to work.”

“I don’t think it is going to work.”

Shit.

Sure, in the heat of the moment this afternoon I thought about calling it quits, but that doesn’t help me stomach the fact that Rio is firing me.

“If we continue like this, I mean. I don’t think it’s going to work if we continue like this.”

“You want to replace me on the project.”

Rio’s head rears back. “What? No. No, I don’t want to replace you. I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

Those green eyes meet the ground with a bit of shyness. “If you want.”

“But you hate me, remember?”

His attention immediately meets mine, glare hard. “I don’t hate you. Hurt, yes. But I could never hate you, Hallie.”

My lips part to say something, but then close when I can’t find words.

There’s that heaviness settling in again, the way it so often does between us now, but I decide to not allow it. We used to have fun together without all this tension living between us.

I hold my hand out to shake his, and his eyes trail it suspiciously.

“Hi. I’m Hallie Hart.”

There’s this moment of déjà vu from the first time we ever met, when I was eleven and he was twelve, and he was just happy to have kids his age living next door.

I can tell he feels it too when he’s staring at my hand with confusion, but then realization dawns and a knowing grin slides across his lips. “You don’t have to tell everyone your first and last name,” he says, the same way my brother did all those years ago.

“I like it.”

He slips his hand into mine and the electrifying slide of his palm against my own acts as a reminder that we haven’t intentionally touched in years. Nothing about it feels friendly or professional, especially when the pad of his thumb slides across my knuckle in a gentle stroke.

“I like it too,” he says.

My hand is still in his when he runs that same thumb over the soft skin of the inside of my wrist before letting it go.

Something strange happens in my stomach at that. Good God, are those butterflies? No, no they’re not because there’s no way I could feel any sort of excitement around this man again. I’m simply mistaken because it’s been so long since I’ve felt butterflies. Six years to be exact.

He stretches his hand out again for me to shake. “So, what do you say? For the sake of my house and your job, should we try to be friends?”

Friends. I could laugh. Seems an impossible stretch from where we are now.

This time it’s me eyeing his outstretched hand. Slowly, I put my palm in his again, and contrary to the last, this handshake is quick and friendly.

“Friends,” I agree.

Feels wrong. Tastes like a lie.

“So, what’s next for us?” he asks.

What’s next for us?

“With the house, I mean.”

Oh.

“Well, we do need to retry that meeting from today. I had some important things I needed to go over with you. And”—I look towards his place—“I’ll need to do a walk-through of the house soon.”

He quickly nods. “You want to see the house. My house.”

I chuckle. “That is how this works, after all.”

“I don’t have a game on Wednesday or Thursday night, so one of those evenings would work.”

Tina’s reminder rings in my mind about me having to be flexible for this particular client. The problem is, I don’t have the consistent income to be flexible. I need to work.

“Actually, evenings aren’t great for me. Keeping our meetings between business hours would be best.”

He eyes me curiously, and I can sense he’s trying to figure out what it is I’m doing with my nights, but he doesn’t pry. Because we are trying to be friends. Professional, non-overstepping friends.

“Friday then,” he offers. “After my morning skate and before my game. Let’s say three o’clock. My place.”

“Friday at three it is. Don’t be late this time.”

He chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

A moment lingers between us, neither knowing what to say, when Rio finally gestures towards my house. “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

I make the same motion towards his place. “So should you.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t be surprised to learn that not much has changed in that department. I’m lucky if I can get a few hours a night.”

Like an instinct, it’s on the tip of my tongue before I remember that we aren’t kids anymore. We can’t sneak to each other’s houses to sleep and pretend it doesn’t mean anything.

So instead, I offer him a weak, tired smile and leave for my door. Once I reach it, and before I go inside, I look back over my shoulder at him. “Good night, friend .”

He grimaces. “Yep. Don’t love that.”

I chuckle, unlocking the front door. “Good night, Rio.”

He stays there, hands in his pockets, watching me go inside. “Night, Hal.”

Wren left the entryway light on for me, as well as the one on the porch. When I close the front door behind me, I lock it at the same time, but before I turn off the porch light, I look for him one last time through the peephole.

Rio is still standing there, hands in his pockets, wide stance as he faces my door, looking at it as if he can see me through it.

But he can’t, so I indulge in checking him out without the consequences of getting caught.

I understand that technically he’s the same man I’ve always known, but so much of him has changed. I thought he was the cutest boy I’d ever met back when he was shorter, had acne, wore braces, and didn’t have a natural athletic bone in his body. But now? Good God. If I allowed myself to look at him in that way again and wasn’t jaded from the past six years, I’d be in trouble.

After one final glance, I turn off the porch light and it’s only then Rio finally walks back home.