Page 146 of The Storm

I look down at my feet, fingers plucking at the edge of the comforter.

It’s not that I thought we could ever go back to the way things were. But I also don’t think that up until this moment, hearing him confirm it out loud, I truly accepted that whatever comes next will be a pale shadow of what used to be.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” he says.

I turn my head, eyeing him carefully.

“But I am,” he says. “I look at you, and I remember, and I’ve spent so long trying to ignore what was. But now, with you right here next to me, every feeling is raw again like no time has passed at all. But then I also remember everything else. What it was like between us… And it just messes me up because I still… care, and I hate that I care.”

I close my eyes and inhale softly. Harsh truths laid out in front of my feet. It feels like I’m walking on barbed wire.

“I don’t know how to be a dick to you,” he says.

A surprised chuckle escapes my throat. “But it used to come so naturally.”

He snorts out a laugh. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

We smile at each other, and it’s small and cautious and not really that much of a smile at all. But it’s there anyway.

“Or maybe you’re just losing your edge,” I say.

“It’s confusing as fuck,” he says bluntly.

I nod and direct all my attention back to my toes.

“Probably a good thing I quit, then,” I say, as lightly as I can possibly manage.

“You’re not quitting.”

I roll my eyes. “I already did. You were there, remember?”

“No. We’re not doing that.”

I blow out a breath. I don’t know what he’s thinking, and I’m too tired to hope for something good. “Then what do you suggest?”

“We’re not nineteen anymore,” he says slowly. “I think we can both handle a truce.”

Can we?

I’m honestly not sure.

He raises his eyebrows at me when I still haven’t said anything after a minute.

“I bet I can last longer than you,” he says.

I snort out a startled laugh. “You’re mature enough to handle a truce but not mature enough to avoid a stupid dare?”

He shrugs. “You’re already gearing up to beat me, so stones and glass houses, Blue.”

I shake my head and look away, biting back a smile; a genuine one this time.

He leans closer. I can feel the heat of his skin against mine. It happens in a snap. The tightening in my chest, followed by a flutter.

Oh, for fuck’s sake! No. We’re putting a quick stop to that right now. He offered me a truce, not his hand in marriage. It means we’ll both do our best not to snipe at each other or dig up the past in each other’s presence. Nothing more. And it’d be a good thing for me to remember that.

“A truce,” I say, testing the word out.

It’s not exactly a promise of forgiveness or friendship, but since I’m still not sure I’m after those things anyway, I figure we might as well start there.