Page 80 of Somehow You Knew

When I step into the living room, my irritation is simmering just under the surface, ready to boil over. But then I see Gage sitting on the couch, talking with my mom, grinning from ear to ear.

He looks happy. He looks comfortable. He looks like he belongs here, with us.

And that just pisses me off even more—because I know he’ll never admit he wants to stay.

***

I didn’t say a word to Gage during the ride home from my parents’ house. My mind was spinning, trying to decide whether I should even bring up his conversation with my brothers, or just let it go.

But when we got home, I found something on my bed that I wasn’t expecting.

With the stack of drawings in hand, I march into the living room and finally let the anger that’s been simmering all night boil over.

I find Gage on the couch, scrolling on his phone.

“What the hell is this?”

Gage looks up from his phone. “I’m sorry?”

I wave the drawings in front of his face. “What is this?”

Setting his phone on the coffee table, he stands and takes a few steps toward me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Looks like paper to me.”

“I know it’s paper, dickhead. These drawings…did you make them?”

“I did.”

I toss them onto the coffee table, watching them scatter. “Why did you leave them on my bed?”

He shrugs, still smirking. “I figured you could use some new coloring material.”

I flick my eyes back and forth between his, trying to understand his motives, how he can be so cold and guarded then do something thoughtful.

He sketched my name, a hummingbird, and ‘Spitfire,’ all in hollow letters with intricate designs, something very similar to what I would find in one of my coloring books.

And they’re beautiful, an expression of Gage’s talent as an artist.

But why did he do that forme?

“Why did you go to my brothers about Nathan?”

Gage’s head rears back. “Where the hell did that come from?”

Crossing my arms, I straighten my spine and decide enough is enough. “You don’t get to ask my family about my ex when you won’t even talk to me about anything real.”

He watches me for a beat, his jaw flexing, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—like he’s debating his next move.

Then he takes a step closer, his chest nearly brushing mine. “You want to talk?” His voice is low, rough. “Then tell me the truth right now. Tell me why you moved closer to me the second that asshole walked into your studio.”

I lift my chin, refusing to break eye contact. “No. You don’t get to see all my scars when you’ve shown me none of yours.”

His nostrils flare. “And there’s your answer. I went to your brothers because your reaction told me something was fucking off with that guy, and you sure as hell weren’t going to tell me.”

I huff out a laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who’s taking secret phone calls and pushing me away anytime I get too close…because you’re clearly hiding something from me.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t need to know everything about my life, Spitfire.”

“Right back at you, asshole.”

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