Page 32 of Under the Texas Sky

KIAN

I’m seething while I check out with my pain medicine.

Trent thought I didn’t see him purposefully avoid me, plastering himself to the wall like he’s not six feet tall and bulky. Not only that, but the fact that my body is still in tune with his after two and a half years apart.

As much as I hate to say it–and I really hate to say it–he looks good. His dark hair is longer, the strands slicked back and tucked behind his ears. It makes him look like he should be posing in front of a camera for a fashion magazine, instead of standing in the lobby of some overpriced ski resort. I’m pretty sure he won’t even like skiing.

The thing that really caught my attention, for two reasons, was his right arm. The arm that used to be lanky is now defined with prominent veins running down it. To top it all off, it’s covered in tattoos from the bottom of his wrist to where his shirt sleeve cuts off, and I’m sure there’s more underneath as well.

What would he get tattooed on him? Something meaningful? Random? The need to know burns inside me, and I hate it. I don’t need to know anything about him. I don’t care. I don’t.

But the flowers he was carrying makes jealousy burn through my veins, and I want to hunt down the man he’s buying them for and wring his neck.

Okay, I’m not that psychotic, and this isn’t a soap opera where I can just kill off a character because I don’t like them.

Except I’m supposed to be the one he’s buying flowers for, damnit. I’m supposed to be the one who is here with him while we hide out in our room to avoid the cold, since we both hate it.

Does he still hate the cold? That thought gives me a pause, because the Trent that hid from me isn’t the same man I left two and a half years ago. There’s something different about him.

I pop a few pills in my mouth, swallowing them dry while I wait for the elevator to pick me up and take me back to my room.

I’m not happy, not anymore. It’s becoming glaringly obvious every day, but I don’t know what to do about it.

Trent won’t take me back, that much I know. He’s happy with his new boyfriend, and I resent him for that. He was the one who ruined our relationship– him . Not me. And the fact that I would be willing to take him back at the drop of a hat is a sure sign that it’s a bad idea to even entertain that notion.

But hell, I still see that boy that I fell in love with at sixteen. The boy who gave up everything for me at seventeen. The man who stood by me and always made me smile and laugh. He dried my tears when I cried and promised me the world. We promised each other forever, but forever ended faster than I was ready for.