Page 61 of Sweet Redemption

I shake my head.

“I’ve got her,” Hendrix tells him without ever taking his eyes off me.

And when I finally force myself to look at the only man I ever loved, a once in a lifetime level of rage comes over me.

“You haven’t had me in over three years, Hendrix. I’m not yours to have.”

And I walk away.

SERENA

When you apologize for your emotions, you’re apologizing for your existence.

Own your feelings.

—Serena’s Daily Affirmation

“Serena . . .” His heavy footsteps behind me are all the warning I get before Hendrix and his ridiculously long legs eat up the distance between us. “Serena, stop.”

“Why would I?” I bite back without turning to look at him. My sole focus is on getting further away from the wedding with every step, fully aware I’m not actually escaping anything.

“Well for starters, are you planning on getting lost among the vines?” he asks, sarcasm heavy as I step off the cobblestone pathway into the vineyard itself. “There’s a few hundred acres out here, princess, and you’ve never been good with directions.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble, refusing to slow down.

I’m not about to create a scene in front of my entire family. Moving as quickly as possible with my four-inch heels sinking into the soft soil beneath my feet, I navigate the well-worn path. “Thanks for your concern, Hendrix, but I own this whole damn vineyard and live on the edge of the property to the north. You might get lost, but I won’t.”

“You what?” he asks, his footsteps faltering as I grin and spin toward him, soaking in his shock and maybe enjoying it a little bit.

It’s a whole lot easier to focus on that instead of how good he looks in his charcoal-gray suit with that stupid crisp white shirt that, even after all these years, still makes my mouth water. Damn him for aging like a fine wine.

If he looks like this at nearly thirty, I can only imagine what the next ten years will do for him.

Whatever. Fuck this. And fuck that whole train of thought.

And fuck him too, for that matter.

Yup. Fuck him too.

Feisty feels better than sad. So I’m going to cling to that bitch.

“You don’t get to be shocked. You don’t know me anymore.” My voice cracks, betraying the hurt wrapped in my anger. “Just leave me alone, Hendrix. I don’t want to do this.”

“I can’t do that, Serena.” He takes a step closer, I’d guess battling his own demons, and I slowly shake my head in warning.

I’m proud that I haven’t completely lost my shit yet. Heavy emphasis on yet. The string of sanity I’m currently clinging to is fraying faster than the last loose thread of my favorite cashmere sweater.

“You seem to have done a pretty goddamned good job for the past few years. Let’s just pretend we didn’t see each other tonight and go back to being strangers,” I tell him, somewhere between a whisper and a savage growl. “Because this,”—I point between us—“this doesn’t need to happen. This fight. It’s pointless. It won’t change anything. It won’t make it better. We can’t be friends.”

Hendrix’s crystalline-blue eyes lock on me like a heat-seeking missile, fierce and fiery and pissed as hell. “And what if that’s not good enough?”

“It has to be,” I tell him, grabbing hold of my fury and letting it fuel me. It’s a far safer option than crying. “You don’t get to come back and act like I mean anything to you. Not after three years. So stop. Stop popping up. Stop stopping by. Stop trying to be my damn hero. I don’t need one. I’ve done okay all by myself, in case you hadn’t noticed. So. Just. Stop.”

“You don’t get to tell me what you mean to me, Serena.”

“Meant,” I correct him. “What I meant to you.” The emotion working its way up my throat threatens to choke me.

All of it.