Page 226 of The Way I Hate Him
I can’t.
Not when . . . not when I never stopped loving her.
Not when—
“You’re an asshole.” Startled by the harsh words, I glance over Hattie’s shoulder to a fuming Maggie. A fuming, protective, ready to pounce Maggie. “Did you hear me?” she repeats. “I said you’re an asshole.”
“Maggie,” Hattie whispers, looking embarrassed. “I think everyone on Almond Ave heard you.”
“I hope they did.” Maggie props her hands on her hips defensively. “I can’t believe I touched your face and said you were handsome. I mean . . . sure you’re still handsome, and this added scruff to your jaw doesn’t help our case over here of hating you, but how could you be so cruel to my friend Hattie?”
“Maggie, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Maggie says, her eyes on me. “You hurt her and for no reason. She’s a good person, a trustworthy person, and you’re lucky you even had a chance with her.”
“Maggie—”
“She’s right,” I say, head tilted down, barely looking up at Hattie. “Maggie is right. I was lucky.”
Hattie’s eyes lift to mine in surprise. Those beautiful, soulful eyes I’ve spent many nights staring into, they split me in half, crushing my heart between my ribs.
Fuck, I am such a moron for pushing her away.
“See, at least he’s intelligent enough to know that he was lucky.” Maggie loops her arm through Hattie’s. “Let’s get out of here, we have sandwiches to purchase, enough time has been wasted letting him stare at you and feel his regrets.”
Maggie tugs Hattie away and immediately I feel my heart leap out of my chest, begging me to stop them, trying to knock some sense into my head.
Blame it on my desperation, but before I can stop myself, my fingers reach out and drag over the back of her hand and over her knuckles as she walks by.
A gasp escapes her lips just in time for her to look up and match my gaze with hers.
In that moment, with her looking up at me, I feel time slow down and the memories of us flash through my mind. Fond memories that pumped life into my lungs, jump-started my heart again . . .
Memories like when she first showed up on my porch with her box of stolen possessions, revenge on her mind.
Her in the middle of my living room, listening to the Mamas and the Papas with letters scattered around her.
Her sitting on my counter, showing me how to make cookies.
Sitting under the stars with her, staring up at the sky that grounded us throughout our lives.
Our first kiss . . .
It strikes me like a tornado, spiraling through my body, hitting me left and right with what should have been . . . what could be.
“Hattie . . .” my voice croaks in near silence, my throat tight, my apology on the tip of my tongue.
But I don’t get a chance to say anything else as Maggie tugs her toward the sandwich shop, Hattie turning away, offering me her very cold, very distant shoulder.
Fuck.
My heart sinks.
What could have been . . .
Probably for the better. I pushed her away for a reason, but that knowledge doesn’t refrain me from squeezing my hands into fists with the feel of her skin on my fingertips as frustration trips through me.
I fucked up and I’m paying for it now.
