Page 3 of Redemption
Hayes’s eyes flick back to the road, and I take the momentary reprieve as a chance to look at the man he has become. His jaw-line has sharpened over the years, making the transition from teenage boy to rugged man. It’s made more apparent by the scruff along his face. When I left, his beard was patchy at best. Now, the dark stubble accentuates the sharp line of his jaw. The ball cap on his head hides most of his hair, but the close shave at the back of his neck is a lot neater than he used to wear it.Broad shoulders fill out his uniform, which leaves no question as to whether he can take down a criminal on the run.
Not that I had been thinking of running. Well, not that I’veseriouslyconsidered it.
I bring my eyes back to the mirror, but he’s already looking at me again. The smirk is back, and this time it’s dark—dangerous.
A shiver runs down my spine. If I were smart, I would look away—refuse to play the game, but that would give him all the power.
The smirk stays as he stares at me, and his eyes darken. Then he blinks, and a cold mask shutters over his face—replacing the fire with cool indifference.
“Fine, I’ll make you a deal,” he growls. The timbre of his voice leaves pebbles along my arm. It promises something dark and exciting—an adventure that will be hard to turn down, but I’ve had my adventures with him—they left me broken.
“No.”
I wait for him to argue, to get me to play the game like we used to, but he shrugs one of his broad shoulders and remains quiet.
The sound of the tires against the pavement fills the silence, but just like every time in the past, I’m pulled to him.
“But—tell me anyway.”
A gruff laugh shakes his shoulders, and he says, “I’ll call your mom when I get to the station, and when I tell her what’s going on, I’ll use the nickname—whoever she yells at first is the loser.”
“What’s the prize?” I ask grudgingly.
He turns his head so I have a view of his side profile. The dimple is back, and it does funny things to my heart.
“If I win,” he says, “you have to visit your brother, and if I lose, well—I won’t.”
The air sucked out of the car at the mention of Langston—the backseat doors closing in on me.
“Pick a new prize, and I’ll play the game.”
His smirk turns into a full smile as I study his side profile.
“Take it or leave it.”
My eyes shoot daggers at him as I glare—hoping he can feel all the contempt burning in my veins. It’s not just this challenge that he’s proposed, either. It’s everything—being arrested, returning home, having to leave home in the first place.
I want him to feel all of it because there’s a bitterness that’s rotted in my soul since the day I left. Ineedhim to pay for the mistakes we both made. But, most of all, I want to forget the sharp pain, full of regret, that has remained lodged in my chest, never going away, so that’s why I find myself saying, “You have a deal.”
A slow grin spreads across his face, giving me chills. Whether those chills are from the consequences of making a deal with the devil or the way that smile only increases his good looks, I can’t say, but I do know those chills aren’t good for either of us.
Chapter 2
Hayes
Someone is pranking me—laughing at my expense. That’s my only explanation for the ache in my nose and the little she-devil in the back of my car.
There’s one thing this town is good at—gossip. I’ve learned if you keep your ear to the ground and sit back and listen, people reveal more than they want you to know, but I knew nothing of this. Not one person let it slip that MJ was coming back home. Which begs the question—why? Why didn’t I hear about this?
Whatever the answer, I’m blaming my broken nose—and the predicament I’m in now—solely on the shoulders of this town. They let me down.
The problem is that the pain in my nose tickles compared to the shock of looking into those ice-blue eyes again and remembering every ounce of pain in them six years ago. Those eyes have been the star of my nightmares since the day she left.
We were broken then—still are, seeing as she’s sitting in the back of my cruiser after breaking my nose.
Chancing a glance in my rearview mirror, I find her staring out the window. Her brows are pulled together, and there’s a pout on her lips. There’s a pinch under my ribs, and I pull my eyes back to the road.
She hasn’t changed—still the same spitfire with brilliant red hair and a spark in her eyes that threatens to melt the iciness of their color.
