Page 13 of On One Condition

The fear.

The constant looking over my shoulder every time I received an email or text from her that I’d leave unanswered.

But to make things even more confusing, tonight I felt her anger and sensed the hurt beneath the surface. I watched her struggle with both, and it wasn’t until almost halfway through our conversation that it hit me—she doesn’t know. What I was accused of. Why the Sharpe family up and left out of nowhere.

Why I never spoke to her again.

That has to be why she was so angry. And for good measure. But I was angry too. Wasn’t I the one who’d had the most to lose?

That’s the only explanation as to why she was so upset seeing me again. It has to be.

Christ.

I give a shake of my head to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

She’s still there.

Still owning my every thought.

How goddamn arrogant is that of me to assume I still affect her? There could be a dozen reasons why she was rattled and not a single one of them had to do with me. Right?

Just like there should be a dozen reasons why I should be working and not obsessing over her misplaced anger and a past I thought was dead and buried.

Jesus, Ledger. Get over it.

With a sigh and renewed determination, I read the email in front of me again. But I don’t get past the second sentence because it’s fucking impossible to focus.

She’s making it impossible.

Asher Wells is still here.

She’s really fucking here.

Talk about being blindsided. I was certain she’d left town long ago. I figured that the only people who would be left from that summer would be her gran and pop. I stressed over it, and then felt guilty that the teenage boy inside of me was relieved when I looked up Pop only to find out of his passing. That sounds terrible considering Pop didn’t present any threat to me now . . . but it still worried me that he’d be here. That he’d remember.

But I was wrong about Asher. She is here. And when she turned to face me from behind the bar and those storm cloud-colored eyes of hers met mine, I was instantly transported back to fifteen years ago. Back to that last night, that last kiss, where she stood in the moonlight by my truck, those same eyes staring into mine as she promised she’d come back and meet me later.

And the disbelief and utter heartache that came next.

“You’re not to see her again.”

“Dad . . . what are you talking about?”

“I don’t like repeating myself. You heard me.”

“I love her,” I blurt out.

“You’re thinking with your dick, Ledger. Every good man does at some point, but this is the wrong time and the wrong person to do it with.”

I shove up out of my chair. “You can’t tell me what to do,” I shout.

His hands are fisted in my shirt in an instant, his face inches from mine. His voice is a cool, even tone when he speaks next. “You’ll do as I say. I will not have you disobey me on this. Pretend she never existed. Pretend this summer never happened.”

Nothing can dampen the memory or roller coaster of emotions I went through that night. The pain, the anger, the confusion, the . . . agony.

I did nothing wrong . . . I know that.