Page 112 of Sweet Shots

He’s just saying these things to make himself feel better. To get a clear conscience. I know what I saw.

“A long time? Are you joking? It lastedmaybetwo seconds because I was stunned at how much of a dick he was. Did you ever think that maybe it seemed a lot longer becauseyouwere trashed?”

I rear my head back, shaking it. He doesn’t give me the opportunity to speak. He steps closer and keeps going.

“Do you not remember everything I said to you that night? Because I wasn’t as drunk as you, Mikah. And I meant everything I said. I would have married you that fucking night. I would have gone home and moved all your shit into my housethe next goddamn day, single-handedly, and never would have regretted a second of it. Yes, I should have told Trent to fuck off at the award show, but I was just… trying to keep up appearances. That was wrong, I get it. But I promise you, I did nothing fucking wrong at the club. Nothing. He found me. He kissed me. And I told him to fuck off. And then I went and removed his shit from my page because he’s a piece of shit who has no respect for me or for you, and I won’t stand for that.”

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper, fighting back tears.

“Don’t?” He steps closer to me. “Or don’t want to?”

I roll my lips between my teeth, fighting with myself to hold his stare, but it’s hard. It hurts. I feel my armor cracking.

“I’m not someone who begs, Mikah, and I’m not going to sit here and beg you to be with me, because that isn’t fair to me. I want to be with you—still. I miss the fuck out of you, and I want you with me. I mean that. But if you don’t believe me, if you can’t believe that I want you just the way you are, this will never work. Maybe it will for another month. Two. A year. But the issues you have going on? You need to figure out what you want.” His palm comes up to rest on my chest, right over my heart. It takes everything in me not to melt into him. “I love you. I want to be with you. But you need to figure out what it is you want and if you can handle your shit enough to be with me the way I need you. Because even if I don’t act like it, I do need you too. I need you to be there for me the way you were. And I can be patient with you while you work through your shit. I knew it was there from the beginning. But I can only do that if there’s achance of this working out in the end. If there isn’t?” He drops his hand and steps back. “I can’t feel like this forever. If there’s no chance at all, you need to say that.”

I try to swallow again, completely at a loss for words, but my mouth is so dry I feel like I’m going to choke.

Seconds pass. Minutes. An hour? He finally walks off toward the car.

“Come on. I’ll take you back.”

Like a robot, I follow him. And though the ride back to Zach’s is quick, it feels like a year. No one says a word. Not during and not when he pulls up in front of Zach’s. My hand lingers on the handle, and I want to say something. I want to tell him that I love him too, that I want to be with him, that he makes everything better, but he’s right.

I’m hurt by what he did, and he took responsibility for that… but I haven’t taken responsibility formyshit. Not once since we’ve been together. And that isn’t fair to him. I can’t do that to him or to myself. So maybe once I get my head on straight, for good, I can look back on this and figure out if it’s him I really want.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Dominic

People come and go through my house, most of them putting in acceptable offers, but I decline them all. Every single one. Even the couples who submit buyer’s letters with perfect grammar and big dreams, and those who offer well above the asking price. Everything is no.

I’m biding my time, riding this out, hoping Mikah will come back or call me, or do something that isn’t just ignoring me.

It’s been three weeks since I saw him last. Thanksgiving is right around the corner. I’m afraid these three weeks will turn into three months, and I’ll still be here doing the same shit I’m doing now. Moping around, hoping he’s going to come for me. It’s pathetic, honestly. And so unlike me. I don’t like who I am right now, but I can’t get out of this funk. Not without an answer from him.

“Dominic—”

“Don’t,” I bark.

Adam, my realtor, frowns at me. He takes a seat beside me on the porch as the latest couple walks to their car, shoulders slumped and grouchy that I declined their offer of 50k over asking price.

“What are you doing?” Adam asks with a huff.

“Sitting on my front porch.” I hold up the bottle of beer. “Having a drink.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, I do. I’ve known him long enough to know exactly what he means. He was Emmet’s best friend growing up, and though they still talk, life happened and they don’t hang out as much as they used to. But it’s nice to know people who have helpful jobs.

“I don’t fucking know,” I admit, emptying my bottle. I stare at it for a moment, wanting to whip it into the street, but this isn’tthatkind of neighborhood. So, I gently put it down beside the chair, where the others are.

“I can keep this house up as long as you want, but do you really want people coming in and out like this?”

“Don’t know what I want,” I grumble.

“I think that’s a lie. I think you know exactly what you want. You’re just too afraid to get it.”

“I’m not afraid. I laid all my shit out there. Bare. Told him everything. Never hid my feelings, nothing. I’m just waiting for him to make the move.”

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